and today
and tomorrow

new intentions
like many before
like many to come


by the hope they will not falter
by the hope they will not shatter
by the hope they will not be compromised

setting new priorities
yet knowing the truth

and knowing
yet still denying



on this glimmering night of late november
while you undress yourself with ceremony
my eyes lock upon the undressing of the sky
her breasts undulating in quiet certainty
(radiating in their own breathless awakening)
her sex pulsing in rushed request
and i glimpse how you stretch out your naked body
to receive showers of falling energy
from me
like the suddenness of nightfall
and leaves you howling with elation
while i flaunt my nudity
and we grasp for more heat
and we dance
naked as wild beasts
beneath the edifice of undressed night

and how she reclines above us so shamelessly!

and how we whimper
and shimmer beneath her lust
our legs prized open with hunger
our eyes clasped shut with excess!



he said,
you’re a beautiful woman.

i said,
i know.

in the face of ignorance,



i brought her flowers.

i held them out
as if making an offering,
an offering of… support,
where arms could not be found.

i bit my tongue
for fear of saying
the words that sang my heart.

i withheld warmth
and delivered earth
and hoped the gift would suffice,

while knowing
it would never do
for me.

it would never.



at the end of a day
we fall asleep one person
and awaken another



maybe… just so
i will stand at our window today
this white window that knows our shadows so well
and through the dapple of morning light
i will watch as you go about what you do
and think how
when we are not bound
arms and legs and mouths
there is still the splendor of you
and its ring inside my senses
like the vibrant chime of a bell
upon my eyes
for them to open
to receive
your breath
as if for the very first time

and i will watch
for your ghost
to find our white window

to wander through my body
like a yearning spirit 
wanders through an empty house



i love the seasons. i love them dearly. they afford an opportunity for change. an opportunity for newness. there is a special delight in seeing new colors. touching new flowers. smelling new airs. there is a psychic explosion of sensuality inside me when the present season departs and the new season enters my life.

but. once upon a time. once. long ago. i lived in a country with no seasons. i did not hate living there. i loved it. i loved it so much, i didn’t notice the missing seasons. life was lived one season all year long. and there was nothing to think about. that was just how it was.

now. many years later. i think about that experience as though i was a victim. as though i was missing something, back then. i wasn’t. but sometimes memories bring with them a certain feeling of wanting to be the victim. just like sometimes they bring with them a certain feeling of wanting to be there again… doing it all over again.

today. there is the feeling of wanting to be the victim. poor me. i lived in a beautiful country with a beautiful landscape and beautiful people… oh, but… i didn’t have my seasons.

let me be the victim, then!
if that will feed something.
just for today.

i will be the victim.
i will be the masochist.
just for today.

i will sit inside
and think about
my no-season life

with self-pity.

and outside,
the leaves will turn,
and change color,

and fly away.



she told me about her falling dreams.
i listened as she walked around
a clamoring evasion.

and then, right before she left,
a doorknob confession.
one of those,
oh, and by the way…
as if we would not meet again.

as if she owed me a truth
she did not owe herself.