When my parents were still here for me, I asked and avoided, I listened and ignored. When I became a parent, all that programming poured from my firmware and wanted control. Would I live the legacy or change it?
On your journey together may you open your hearts to: an alphabet of features we should all discover in the arms of our loved ones.
Two poems looking back on an old romance
Driving towards the real world, The minor key strokes my scalp. My pelvis keeps time. I’m the best jukebox in town. This morning my skin was finally sated and I could hear my heart. My chest burns hot and ripe alongside. All night long you seep into my psyche. Lust arcs through shoulder blades, throat [...]
Delight…transformation…I remember. The blood pounds love and lust. You’ve opened the beautiful flows of his tenderest spots, his giving spots, so long warped and turned inside. Your lips and touch bring healing. From this perch on the edge of Shangri-la you see me as the greatest threat—to what? You’re face to face with your lover, [...]
She screams out ”Won’t someone please shoot this dog? Please, if I circle back around the block one more time, will you please have your gun ready and try to shoot the dog? Shoot the damn dog and don’t shoot me? Please.”
Greedy barnacles slurped their soup at hillside bistros. Tiny crabs paraded from neighborhood to neighborhood, skittish about the traffic. I drank it all in until my eye finally said “too much for one day;” the end of many city scapes.
I enjoy this sweet, erotic, love-soaked slant on the fleeting light and last roses of fall. And I’m grateful to you for making me the lover I’ve always wanted to be: received; expansive and cherished. I’m surrounded by fountains of discovery and rediscovery; the source and subject of so much passion.
Since when do I collect anxiety in my thighs, my knees, my buttocks and calves?
Love beyond the bursting of passion in each artery wall and sticky bit of skin, love past the years, love over fifty, love through the dark times—that lasting, longed-for, whole adult love—must be generous. It cannot demand more than it gives; it cannot measure the gift.