A Rather Long Monologue But It’s Poetic
A monologue because is love ever anything else? If we’re lucky both faces of love are modeled for us in clear, unambiguous ways.
A monologue because is love ever anything else? If we’re lucky both faces of love are modeled for us in clear, unambiguous ways.
Desire puts us in the space of seeing what we need, what we yearn for. And this, right now after a long period of starvation & loneliness & desolation is shadowy. The needs are real but are they deep or transient? Will they vanish like FOMO the minute they are…
His voice holds me. His words unravel me. And the trouble is the unraveling, the undoing, the blurring continue long after the voice has gone silent, the line cold. Because words, they linger. Burning flesh wounds inside defenses. And everything else feels harder, sharper, steelier. I am in a world…
Activists with sincerity on their tongues, burning eyes & tearful hearts. They set mine afire. I register the call of their wild cries, in the pounding in my ears. Eloquent speakers do the same. They tease out the primal me.
A poem about attraction and affection crossing borders.
‘Romance’ originally implied something extravagant & usually of a fantastical (so unrealistic) nature.
I think I can only experience romance when I feel happy. I can only play the games of flirting when playfulness is possible. I can only smile at the mirth of charm when I’m just looking for an excuse to smile anyway. That’s why love becomes a common destination for…
You wouldn’t recognise desirein the emptiness in your mouthmaking way for wordsthat your stomach is already breaking down You wouldn’t know desire if it licked youYou think it’s meant to kick & clawNot snuggle between your cellsBreathing the quiet places between people You wouldn’t trust desireEven if you laid bare…
Whew pink season is over, what a relief! To paraphrase Mad Men, romance was invented by capitalists to sell more stuff. Valentine’s Day single-handedly created an economy of greeting cards, pink teddy bears & red hearts. Nothing wrong in these, of course. But let’s not pretend it’s something else.
I found my kinship with green things when I was 8, watching fascinated as baby shoots poked out of the mud laid on a try, where I’d sprinkled mustard seeds a few days earlier. I didn’t know it then but I became a gardener that day.