Last night I dreamt
that I visited a garden
on a sunny street,
where I found you
digging in the dirt.
You put down your tools
and drew me to you,
kissing and touching me all over.
I licked your skin
and tasted the soil.
You laid me down
in the garden bed
and fucked me good
against the warm earth.
beneath clothes of life
we are all radiating
the beauty within
The rain was swift and fleeting today.
I lay hidden
under a cloud
thinking of how
the air between us
was rich and steamy
with ambiguity.
Delighting
in dreams
of you.
I am angry and sad today about the unfairness of life. I long for a life in which I could openly love a man without inevitably pushing him away or causing him to rampantly take advantage of me.
You are a strange one, my love.
Not made of soft earth like me,
but of fire,
and the wind
that feeds it.
Your mother ran out of milk
while you were still suckling.
Lack became your preferred feast.
Now you crave the torment
of a dry breast,
a woman who gives nothing.
If only
I could give you that!
Maybe someday, someday
I will stop loving you
and seduce…
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Be just out of reach.
Be unavailable.
Be gone.
Don’t be yourself.
Be prettier than you are.
Be thinner than you are.
Don’t love.
Don’t show your love.
Don’t tell anyone you love them.
Don’t think about sex.
Don’t want sex.
Don’t ever have sex.
Simply follow this advice, ladies
(be an absence,
a falsehood,
a lack,
a void,
a loss)
and men
will marry you.
Even though you have touched my body
again and again,
I am still like new today,
rising in the dawn of this morning
to breathe with desire
for your hands,
as though it were
the first time.
I am new
like America was,
inhabited for thousands of years,
and yet still waiting
in dappled sunlight,
coffers brimming with gold and chocolate,
to be discovered.
My lover’s eyes are stony,
impassive,
like the inscrutable eyes
of God
when we make love.
And I am a precious jewel,
shining radiantly
in the mirror of his gaze,
my skin creamy ivory,
my lips pink like rhodochrosite,
the hard rubies of my nipples gleaming,
waiting to be polished further
by his tongue.
We glow together.
Love is a diamond,
multifaceted and rare,
formed from the weight
of extraordinary pressure,
yet exquisite to behold
when all is said
and done.
Today I am sharing this poem again in celebration of Purim and Nowruz, two festivals of early spring renewal and revelry, that may share ancient roots
In Springtime,
all of nature
falls in love.
The air is wet
with arousal,
fragrant with pollen
and the scent
of raw need.
In springtime,
our bodies ache towards each other
like the First Man
and First Woman did,
the first time they made love,
when the heavens opened up
and the gods applauded like thunder
and a million flowers took latin names
and carved their shapes
out of the green pith
of possibility,
blossoming into a full rainbow
of lurid colors.
In springtime,
clouds cry their heavy tears
that seep into the land,
feeding plants, nourishing roots,
shaking off the sadness of death
that winter brings.
The Earth opens
like a mouth
to receive
the Sun’s kiss.
Love shines.
I saw you
and I felt your eyes
riveted upon me.
I could tell you
had secretly missed me.
I watched you happily luxuriate
within the embrace
of my studied inattention
as you went about your business.
Within the air
hung volumes of words
that lay unsaid
between us,
like clothes pinned on a line,
wet and immediate.
The surface of your skin,
tanned and hot,
beckoned my touch.
I know your mouth remembered my nipples
and the softness of my breast.
I felt your longing
and for a moment our eyes singed
on each other.
You smiled,
and I knew then
you still wanted me.
In Springtime,
all of nature
falls in love.
The air is wet
with arousal,
fragrant with pollen
and the scent
of raw need.
In springtime,
our bodies ache towards each other
like the First Man
and First Woman did,
the first time they made love,
when the heavens opened up
and the gods applauded like thunder
and a million flowers took latin names
and carved their shapes
out of the green pith
of possibility,
blossoming into a full rainbow
of lurid colors.
In springtime,
clouds cry their heavy tears
that seep into the land,
feeding plants, nourishing roots,
shaking off the sadness of death
that winter brings.
The Earth opens
like a mouth
to receive
the Sun’s kiss.
Love shines.
