Occasional Chaos

Jumping

The distance I feel
when I glimpse
the depths of your soul

Staring at the sun
as it drops to the bay
I am touched

So I jump.

Quiet Beauty

Your beauty glows quietly,
elusive butterfly
in the afternoon warmth,
naive and weightless,
unknowingly vulnerable,
lighting your face softly,
your smile so genuine
I can barely breathe.

I’m surrounded by
your presence,
calming and familiar
in its tenderness,
overwhelmed by its innocence.
You notice
and come to me,
soft yet insistent.

Dreamlike
we touch as lovers.

Sensing you fade,
I touch your arm, your thigh,
your slow breath
and faint heartbeat
rhythmic souvenirs
as your thoughts recede
to a safe and peaceful place
I cannot know.

I close my eyes,
gently lest I startle you.

I fear you’ll go.
A false move,
an ill-considered word,
you'll flit away,
shared innocence forever lost.
How foolish I am
to presume such influence over
a simple pause in your journey.

I don’t move my hand
hoping never to lose
the fragile ephemeral touch
that connects us,
yet content with
one more delicious moment
frozen forever
in time.

Un Autre Endroit

Je ne sais pas vraiment
ce que je sens en ce moment
Je sais seulement que
mon âme est heureuse,
transportée à un autre endroit du cœur
que j’ai presque oublié
où je te chercherai toujours
même quand tu es longtemps partie.

The Times You've Come

I could count
the times you’ve come
the way I counted the steps
of the staircase in
my grandmother’s house
its small landings
milestones celebrated with ceramic shrines
perched comfortably on snowflake doilies
knowingly destined to pay
the ultimate price
in the wake of an excitable boy.

I’d rather not
(count them, that is).
I cherish the landings
where I create my own shrines
unbreakable memories
moveable feasts
my desire to climb faster
tempered by fear
of reaching the top
I hope (against hope)
does not exist.
(Hope, two-faced,
futile and life-breathing.)

Floating dreamlike
seems a more fitting metaphor,
resisting a count
not subject to a top
which after all is
just gravity
with its silly rules
my dream mockingly ignores.
Your visits have
neither beginnings
nor endings;
how could they be counted?
Still, I love the times you’ve come.

Amsterdam

I watched you that slow grey morning
as you sat on the edge of the bed
putting on your makeup
wet hair clinging to your neck
still dripping onto your t-shirt
dotting its color from sky to blood.

Unaware of my gaze
you were somewhere far away
happily singing a song (I imagined)
words I could not comprehend
so sure of your solitude you danced
half-naked in the cool rain.

I watched your foot dangle idly
twitching, a leaf catching droplets,
your bare sole hinting
one last and forlorn time
at a place of secluded wonder
I know exists, but cannot breach.

I saw, at that moment, my dilemma
a tacit invitation written in code I could not crack
as the dewy newness dried away
evaporating us into tedium
a sense of impending loss
burrowing its aching dullness deep into my soul.

“Why aren’t you coming in?”
words indifferently unspoken
startled me, and I looked away.
I had no answer and so
let the quiet once so endearing
add to our distance.

You smiled, and I saw a hint of sadness.
Was it yours or mine?
I thought our affair could last forever
in the place I dreamed real
But you knew better
that time and heartache are one.

The Garden

I followed you into the garden
that first time
hoping you’d see me
as I wanted to be.
Eden before the serpent
young, innocent,
believing in miracles
as fools and dreamers do.

Each time we went
we were new,
an unspoiled canvas
eager for its first blush of color,
carelessly reinventing love
in our own image.

When you didn’t come
I searched for my darkness,
counterweight to the joy
still beating in my chest.
Yet I found not emptiness,
just the reflection of love
urging me onward.

We were not destinations,
but journeys.

Vanity

You did not stay
long enough
for me to know you.

My anger was vanity
presuming a leave
I could argue against.

In my chest
sadness swells
still you are gone.

Some remain
in our hearts
not our lives.