I like it when you play with my hair
play with my mind. play with my heart.
make me feel beautiful while my
skin is still soft. eyes are still bright.
hips are still round.
I like it when you kiss me right there.
kiss me all over. play with my hair
Make me feel wanted when my
heart is still young. mind is still
soft. needs are still shallow.
I like it when you touch my face
and feel my lips with your tongue
with your cheeks. with your breath.
Make me feel sexy when I’m having a
bad day. when I trip and fall.
when you look at me that way.
Written Thursday, 8.8.02.
This poem is in another post, Fun it is to be loved.
:: everything’s in bloom – when you’re in the room ::
when I first saw you
at the top of the stairs –
Let’s jump into
the picture on the wall
stuck in color
It’s been decided.
I’m un-invited to the possibility.
You won’t give chase to the chance that
this could be something worth talking about.
Worth fighting about.
Because it has to be perfect, and smooth, and expected.
That’s where the opportunity over-ripens
and is smooshed beyond usability.
Compost is the option.
Compost you and me.
Written Monday, November 5th, 2012 @ Flowers, U District, Seattle, WA.
I had a dream
You were in it;
I was there.
We were together
by an open window –
the stars were out
in your eyes.
The smell of bougainvillea
on our noses;
you said I could
lay my head on your shoulder,
“I don’t want to fall in love.”
I haven’t written a poem
in a while
so I feel kinda self-conscious
typing this out
And I don’t have anything
Let’s end on that note.