Invitation

April 20, 2016

You know some people walk around and its like they have a bitter pill in their mouth all the time, and they never want to spit it out, they just want to be offended by fucking everything?

Yeah, that was my ex. All I ever wanted from life was to do my job, which I love, by the way, and come home and be with someone who is good to be with. Maybe have a nice vacation sometimes. A few hobbies, camping maybe. And there was my ex, sucking on that bitter pill all the time, spitting out angry comments and imagining slights everywhere. It was exhausting.

Who knows what the original beef was. God, mommy probably loved someone else more, or baby brother got a bigger piece of cake or a fancier bike at Christmas. Who cares? Get over it, seriously.

But that’s neither here nor there. I said “ex” because that’s in the past. Now my life is almost what I want. Almost. The ex is gone because I needed peace. I still love my job, which, if I didn’t mention before is cakes. I make cakes, and they are everything you ever imagined a cake can be. God, I’m good at cakes. If you have a talent and you can make money at it, well, that’s practically heaven.

You may have noticed I keep changing the subject, a problem I have, I guess, and maybe why the ex agreed to a divorce. Which leads me back to what I was going to say. Almost perfect. I even go camping sometimes. But the house is always empty, and it wouldn’t be right to have pets I never see. So I find myself working later and later, taking commissions I wouldn’t normally take, making money I don’t need, but staying busy so I don’t have to go home to that goddamn empty house.

Which leads me to Andy. Andy of the perfect body and bright smile and sunny hair and strong hands. I could go on, but I sense boredom setting in. Andy is a masseuse I met when, after constructing the ultimate dragon cake—seriously, six feet long, breathed fire, the works—for a geek couple’s sci-fi wedding. They were so grateful they gave me Andy, or, well, heh, a session with Andy after I was done with all the heavy lifting. So they were off on their honeymoon, and there I was, naked under a sheet, and Andy came in and my heart stopped and I can’t say it ever started back up again. I’ve lived with it in my throat ever since.

Have you ever met someone and you knew immediately there was a connection? I think everyone has at least once, and if you haven’t, get out there and find it because it’s like being drunk and high and having an orgasm all at once. Every cell in your body lights up, seriously, believe it or not, it’s a real thing. Oh, Andy, Andy, Andy, that was it for me. I couldn’t even speak, and thank God I didn’t have to, I was having a massage.

Aware of every single muscle, tendon, blood vessel, and hair follicle. Also aware of every flaw, bulge, corn, blemish, and stubble. Still, every cell in my body sang. I practically ignited at Andy’s first touch and none of that mattered anymore.

Jeez, you probably think I’m nuts. That my ex was the only person I’d ever had sex with? Not true. I’ve always been active that way. It’s usually a fun, relaxing thing, I don’t want strings attached, and that’s okay. But after Andy? I don’t know if I can ever stand to have another person touch my body again. Ever.

Yet I had no ability to speak, at least not the first time. And yes, I’ve seen Andy since. Or, I’ve made appointments to have a massage, and yes, Andy’s hands have been on my naked body again. God, just not the way I want.

I just don’t know, though, if I’m imagining what I think I am feeling. Sometimes it seems like there is a slow, languorous, lingering in Andy’s touch. Sometimes it seems so sensual, but I can’t tell if its me and my longing for that or actual, real, honest, mutual attraction.

So, I made my play, lame as it is, and I’m waiting to see if Andy shows up. After the massage, I left the payment in an envelope…with a note. It seems so stupid now, but I can’t seem to be coherent when Andy’s around. It was an invitation to dinner…and breakfast. Yeah, I mean, yeah, staying the night. And I said if there was no interest, no harm, no foul, we could just go on the way we’ve been. But it’s almost seven now and I don’t know if I will eat this dinner alone or not. The candles are lit, the music is on, and I’m in my finest jeans and t-shirt. What do you want? I’m a baker not a CEO.

Fuck, I’m an idiot.

Wait. That’s the doorbell.

Unspoken

November 14, 2015

 

Summer Evening by Edward Hopper

Summer Evening by Edward Hopper

Unspoken,
the time we spent before
not so long ago,
your lips were on me,
our sweat mingling
and both of us
all unaware of
the existence of the world,
other than the one
we created together.

Now at the door,
reluctant to say goodbye,
my body still thrums
when I remember.

Remember

November 13, 2015

Remember

We met at the park,
you came upon me and stopped to talk.
When you saw I had kids
you didn’t freak out and
I smiled.

You never pushed too hard,
but you invited me places.
We met again and again,
and every time
I smiled.

One night, saying goodbye,
you reached into the car
and kissed me.
All the way home, oh, how
I smiled.

One night, at your place,
we explored one another,
and before it went too far
you asked me,
“Are you sure?”
I said yes, and
I smiled.

So many nights together,
you came to mine and tapped
at the bedroom window.
I would fly to the front door
and we would kiss and kiss.
So much love,
so many smiles.

Whatever happened to us?

 

.

What We Are

November 6, 2015

What We Are

Certain scents move me in time.
Passing a carnival today,
the popcorn and frying food
mingled with apples and cinnamon,
the fresh autumn breeze,
and the crackle of leaves underfoot
took me back.

We’d been seeing each other
for just a short while.
We went to the fair,
still full of the wonder
of just holding hands.

We were so young.

It felt like the most important day of my life.
In a way, it was.

Sights and sounds blurred,
for I was looking at you,
looking at us,
feeling your hand in mine.

Food, sounds, so many people
all rushing by, all unimportant,
tasteless, invisible. We were ghosts
in the world, haunting ourselves.

At last, face aching from smiling,
feet numb and blistered
we went home to your place
for the first time.

How naturally we flowed into
each other’s arms.
How easily, comfortably we loved.
Unforgettable, the incredible sensations,
more intense for the newness.
How I loved you.

It was awkward and wonderful
and perfect.

It is perfect still.
Our knowledge of one another helps,
but each time adds to the others,
adds from the first
building our life together,
ecstasy and pain,
to make us what we are now.

.

Crowd

October 24, 2015

 

Crowd

So many people, chattering endlessly.
Empty heads and emptier words
hold no charms.
I lift my glass to finish
and there you are.

You seem just as bored as I,
just as ready to flee
this stifling mass of humanity.
I stare, I can’t seem to stop.
How did I not notice you before?

Your eyes leap up
and meet my startled gaze.
And hold me there.
A smile flickers to life
and I return it.

Our eyes are locked,
the sound dies away
and all I can hear, all I can feel
are heartbeats thudding,
pounding in my ears, my body,
as our gaze deepens,
intensifies.

A lift of your brows,
a glance toward the door.
I smile and go to find my coat.

 

 

.

Promise

October 18, 2015

Promise

It builds slowly, one hardly notices.
Like walking in the forest,
the ground underfoot sometimes softens,
the groundwater seeping up.
Soon one finds a spring,
a small place rife with fecundity,
or a trickle of water from a pile of stone.

Nobody suspected a softened emotion
not from me, serene and calm,
pacing through life untouched
alone.

They didn’t feel the moisture,
dampening the forest floor,
loosening the resolutions I made
when I was still in pain and certain.

They can’t breathe in the softness
the way I can when I feel your gaze
on me, asking me,
telling me,
demanding.

They had no way to see the hope
springing verdant
at the idea of you.

And then when at last your fear
and mine became weak against
our desire,
at last
we change
and all we are
all we can become
is heat
and fire,
taste and touch
and sweat-slick
ravishment.

How odd the world doesn’t change
when all inside me feels alive.

How is it the world is different now,
so welcoming
and alive with
the promise of more?

Flowers

February 24, 2014

Flowers

All night the flower,
petals tightly closed against
depredations of moth and moon
remains firmly resistant to their blandishments.

Once the sun begins to rise,
the caress of light begins to play along the petals,
warming the flower, as your embrace warms me.

Coaxing gently, persistently, the light glows.
soft kisses of butterfly and bee batter delicately,
waiting for the flower to open, for the petals to relax,
just as your kisses cajole and allure and induce and beguile.

The choice belongs to me, as it does the flower.
Whether to open and glory in the sun, stigmas revealed to preferred
visitors, bees, legs fat with pollen, sipping the nectar prepared for them
in exchange for flower-ripening life.

Do they shudder with delight, as I do,
when they are penetrated, plundered, partaken?

Do flowers groan with bliss upon an insect kiss?

Do they wait, impatient, for the next encounter?

 

 

Valentine

February 12, 2014

Valentine

Lost among the daily mail
a simple note
that reads
“I love you,”
inscribed on a simple paper heart
in cursive script.

Of course such a thing
makes one’s pulse race.
Who wrote it?
Who could it be?
Is it really for me?
Could this be a mistake?
Or a recipe for heartache?

To discover a secret lover
one must go to great lengths
of observation.
Wondering,
puzzling,
fretting and thinking.
Dreaming.

I know who I want it to be,
and I wonder:
if I return the favor
write a similar note for
them to find…

And so I do.

And when I see the surprised
delight at receiving such a note,
and they instantly look around to see
who could it be
I let them see
me.

But only for an instant
and the briefest of smiles
and dash back to my place
remembering the look
on that face
and smiling
so hard.

And then
the waited-for knock
and the breathless “hello”
and the blush that starts
at the roots of my hair
and goes all the way
to my toes.

But maybe something new
can begin.

Maybe something warm and deep
and full of passion
and pain
and love
and joy
is right behind
those
eyes.

 

 

 

Ardor

December 6, 2013

 

A marked lack of restraint
at last
here in private.
You know I can’t
(or won’t)
share my passion
out in the world
met by prying eyes,
but you also know
my deepest heart and
darkest longings
and most intense
desires
and you know
how I melt inside
when you do those things
in public places
and populated spaces;
a pressure to my palm,
a casual hand brushed
against my thigh
or a slightly possessive
posture, pressure against
the small of my back when
I’m laughing at someone else’s jokes,
as if to say,
“I’m here too, don’t forget
about us, about who is going home
with you
tonight.”

 

 

 

Conflict

March 28, 2013

Conflict

I wander through
my day-to-day
existence. Fine,
but things seem gray.
But that’s all right,
it’s all okay,
My element
-al passion play
is actually
a throw-away
the way I feel
right now, today.

And then you reach
out, talk to me,
and all my dread
-ful apathy
is swept away,
I’m undersea,
I cannot breathe;
our repartee
wakes my senses
makes me feel free.
And makes me fear
and want to flee.

But looking back
at my dull life;
its lack of joy,
its lack of strife,
and all my wishing,
all my grief,
my hopes for more
cut like a knife.
The things I do
seem empty, rife
with pointlessness.
This is no life.

And so I then
look back to you,
and see the joys
(and sorrows too)
that wait there for
me, all seems new.
I struggle, fight
what I know’s true
because I can’t be
in love with you.
I have a life.
You know I do.

But still my soul
longs for our love.
Longs for the days
of hand-in-glove,
of long warm nights
of making love
and holding on
and I think of
our passionate
and pleasured love
and angry spats
like fire above
and know that you
are my true love.

And how I long
to turn away
from my whole life,
from stodgy gray.
And run to you,
be led astray.
With no remorse
my life betray.
But there’s the bite
the edge, the fray.
To do as I
would like today,
we would then
cause such dismay.
I think again.
I turn away.