"because @ some point it was decided that making love required 2 bodies to be adjacent in time and space..."

"To be wounded by your own understanding of love;
And to bleed willingly and joyfully.
To wake at dawn with a winged heart and give thanks for another day of loving;
To rest at the noon hour and meditate love's ecstasy;
To return home at eventide with gratitude;
And then to sleep with a prayer for the beloved in your heart and a song of praise upon your lips." - Khalil Gibran


7/24/10


Seven years ago
We made a promise.
Too naïve to understand.
Too stubborn to give up.
There's a new moon tonight
Bursting with butterscotch light
Peaking thru hazy gray summer rainclouds in a starless sky
But...
There is nothing new about it
That is the same moon that was out the night we made that promise
Seven years ago
To naïve to understand.
Too stubborn to give up.
The butterscotch moon has melted and coated the lillies that mysteriously line my stoop and I struggle to remember if yellow is the color of friendship or insanity...
Raindrops glisten on the petals that are pushed back in full bloom, stamens sticking straight up so that each flower is a tiny ballerina dancing in gratitude for the summer thunderstorm... Or in celebration of our promise?
Too naïve to understand that a promise made once quickly becomes an obligation
Daily renewal is necessary for longevity 
Are we still too stubborn to give up?

when not to play with fire

I'm listening to the silence between your words
And
it speaks to me in volumes
The meaning of your carefully crafted sentences is shattered by unforgiving white space
bursting to the point of breaking with aged emotion.
Like a mountain climber
your tongue
searches for steady footholds
Preferring the fine dust of sturdy weather-beaten rock to the texture of the skin on the back of my neck
See, I have a hard time keeping my heart off my sleeve
But your intentional avoidance exposes me
to the possibility of turning my heart into that dusty rockface
And I'd rather hide it than let it play
in the white canyons between your words
Exposed to the elements of raw emotion
Yours is a silence that hums and I will not harmonize
No matter how much I love to sing.