1:06 am / Wednesday, Apr. 15, 2009
I have adored bears and beasts--
felt their hunger stab my stomach
aggregated and abrasive.
I have burnt their unshaven faces with the cinnamon of my kisses--
Left welts on their necks because: they asked for a struggle.
I have ventured to make them right.
slept in strained circles aching for the moment
they'll assume I’m sleeping, and leave.
I have reveled in the company of hunters
their camouflage cocktails
disguising their true intentions
and I have said No, and they leave.
I have said Yes, and they leave.
I have torn sheets--
fingernail ripped, and ribboned when I felt no need to say No.
Because No was always a possibility.
It arose in my brain as quickly as Yes.
Their smells and steady hands
Assured my insecurity—
Vulnerability in their virility
Hesitancy is not a beast’s strength, but—
My trudge through their forest somehow lead me to
a fluid you.
Hush and lush you.
I have loved bears—
But I have never held their fur--
I have made beasts roar,
But they never laugh.
Like you do.
You wake beside me: all grins and gooey good mornings
Cups of coffee, cream and word puzzles—
Melody and secure in our tremulous theology--
This tangible tranquility, in spite of our inner explosions.
You are a smooth barked Cypress—
Curls and angles, velvet and down.
With you I can stretch my roots between blankets
dirt damp and malleable, hospitable.
Expansion and the rooting of something epic
Splay our limbs into vast space--
And rest where we’ve belonged