in the eye of the beholder

so dangerous to be young --

everyone wants a piece of you

and you have so much to give

everyone gets a limb or two

and so dangerous to be aging --

you want a piece of everyone

and you see in yourself

the sharp teeth of a wolf

Like the Colour of Earth (and not Your skin)

infatuation.

(like always)

: my veins desperate to drink

in the gentle copper curve

of your eyelashes

which sit briskly above your quiet cheekbones

over and over

rain-lit ocean eyes and

lips alight with joy

(I see them every time I close my own)

close to sit

and there, should be sensation

in real time --

instead, fantasy / fantasy / fantasy

mind, I see the fixation

dangered delight in delighting in ..

the putting down,

the retrieval /

the casting aside,

the "picking up the coal"

I'd move down you, if you'd let me

softly, just how you know I like

and in the sharpness I'd reveal

all the atoms I'm made of to you,

animus mundi

my polar opposite and twin

-- could you hold me ... ?

or have you not yet grown ?

(though I love your slightness

I love also your strength --

balance is exactly a libran's coveting)

power and abundance lies between us

as in him and her.

the mountains are full of wild cats.

he warned you -- watch out

ate eight ate

before life gave way to redeath,

my acquisition of beautiful things --

off the street, the basement, bar or beach

like some green-eyed magpie

I could build no nest from them

now I practice discipline

(excepting in the forest,

where words re-emerge,

and at night, when catharsis

turns in two gentle streams)

so my hands are clean(ish)

even as I caress the dirt,

even as I lay myself prostrate before you

in the pretense of putting in plants

do you see me fawning ?

or am I too good at opening and closing ?

am I too good ?

am I, too ?

(surely, you are more discerning

or else, more innocent than I)

from there (the discipline)

wisdom uprights itself ;

from there,

maybe,

maybe ?

love-like lettuce grows

something like the quiet, quiet

in my case, mother,

the perpetual stain of 

smoke in my clothes

belongs to a life lived as lover

to the wild

she draws me into her belly and

keeps me soft.

I go in.

within 24hrs I am whole.

the fire starts on a single match.

my veins run with the river’s blood. 

the forest offers dinner with outstretched limbs.

inhale. exhale. song. 

the flames crackle quietly as night falls.

I have walked barefoot,

my hair is curled wet,

the days remind me of my insignificance.

and I am content. 

truly there is nothing more I want

than the being-ness of this. 

aniwaniwa

I love that the rules change 

so I may survey every atom of you 

when we’re bony bare-skinned 

and three days deep in the forest

you, all day, reciting my name 

me, the night, an offering of affection

as if 

you’re my only lover 

in the whole wired world

in truth, I know,

our fingertips

never’ll meet again 

damp beard and charred hair

a soft-and-sharp scent from the nook next to your ribs

the river walks us downstream 

hand in hand

shivering

you talk about avoiding war whilst falling into conquest 

she should have known better

but you were young and hungry

as you are now

totally infatuated

and me, with life 

I guide your hand over and inside

pull your neck down to my chest 

in the morning, it’s easier, more delicious,

complete 

you feed me peanut butter on a chopstick 

and though we’ve had not two hours sleep —

I feel alive

I feel like royalty. 

the beech trees bow their branches in approval

a sister kisses my feet before we leave 

and the man I’d rather have held

gently presses his lips to my forehead,

not before asking if he may —

I love him. 

Of course I accept. 

Every atom of me loves this place.