lustful

i want to see you touch you squeeze you
taste yr tongue on mine feel you
slide into me until we merge melt
into a single moaning sighing contradiction of my
solitude.

fit ourselves intricately together till we
lose the air between us, i want you
under me over me
around me
map out a song on my skin, trail

fingers into spirals of lust
erase my doubts pull me into
yr steady heartbeat yr breath
on my hair; this time
i mean it.

bubbles

lately life's been blowing
strange bubbles my way
odd ups and downs
hills to coast down but the
coasting freefalling scares me
and i fight it, i slow, the uphill
climb is a battle i give up on
speed on patience surge or stop
i can't picture his face outside
my photos can't quite grasp
the voice on the phone it's not real
not life not anything but
strangers filling ears with stories
and silences i fold myself neat
fold myself simple to fit trimly
in the receiver, package a volume
of myself off down lines to yr
unlistening ear. colors are
dancing before my eyes i saw her
she only tapped her foot maybe
looked my way maybe, too cool
to dance but i'm drowning in yr
magnificence i want to know
yr history and yr secrets and
you can have mine

shrinky dink

                        drawing with crayons relaxes me
                               consumes me to a ridiculous extent

i was taking a nap just now and dreaming of cartoon giraffes
                 listening to snow patrol & tres chicas while i slept
      when a funny feeling like deja vu or something else
                                indescribable
                                                startled me awake

frustration/inspiration

some days i want to be normal i want to
stop dressing in my own special way
stop dreaming stop drifting stop
dancing to the beat of my own private drum i want to
blend in with the crowd &
perhaps maybe their way is right perhaps
i should revise my expectations
rethink my plans but then i
unlock the door walk in after
midnight see you sleeping lovely tousled
new short dark haircut and thrift store skirt
bedroom filled with pieces of yrself and yr
sleeping away yr work from the day &
no yr the one who's getting it right; yr
sketching out yr life as youd like
living for real
different & quirky & so you

& what was i thinking anyway

wasp

i wander through my days like a wasp looking for the way out buzzing pressing itself onto the glass skimming the surface only an eighth of an inch from freedom tap tap tapping

carrboro

last night as i wandered towards my lovely house through the still-gathered crowds from the music on weaver st's lawn, winding my way around groups of laughing smiling talking people with dreadlocks or long tangled curls or buzzcuts, hoops twirling, drum circles forming, kids playing tag around the legs of their parents, it tasted almost like home.