Clumsily, but gently, I pushed you from my head,
as I fumble at my desk, shuffle papers,
try to see and think and do,
when all I find beneath my hand,
my eye, my heart, is you.
I wait now every morning, every day, for your voice,
your call your smile, your hand your eyes . . .
Waiting for the phone to ring,
I realize how hard I hope for a season,
an excuse, a wow, a game, an anything,
a joke, a song, a ring . . .
I wait and then I hear your voice at last . . .
I smile . . . I fly, I sing!
Form the Opposite Ends:
From opposite ends of the earths we came,
Trundling our bags, our treasures, our laughter, our hearts.
From opposite ends of the city we came,
From different points where we once stood,
so near, yet far apart,
From opposite ends of the worlds we came,
Silent and cautious, unseen.
From opposite ends of a lifetime we came, and found a breath of magic hovering in between.
From opposite ends of a kiss we come, to hold each other tight beneath a starry sky.
From opposite ends of a heart we smile, two lives blended into one,
With no more opposites to approach but simply together, laughing and young,
The beautiful man that you are, and I.
I feel you peeling away from me.
like sticking plaster fearing slowly from a wound,
A layer of my skin soldered to yours until suddenly slowly infinitely painfully,
You began to pull, just a little not to a lot, just enough to make me wonder,
And then suddenly all of it being torn asunder, my heart with it's top popped,
Drunk emptied, finished, finished, gone, and now the rest of me pried loose, torn free,
And I tired, frightened, crying, wondering why you can't love me.
Your silence hurts, it weights heavily, dammit, I cared so bloody much,
I hurt, I gave, I cried, I wanted, needed, hoped,
The scope of it all still overwhelms me as I paint portraits in the sky,
Seeing you in my life's eye, painting in your presence for a thousand years to come,
Wanting, wishing, hoping, seeing, yet frightened that you'll fade away . . .
And then, trembling, I realize once more . . . there was no call from you today.
No one There:
I offer him silence and take back despair.
I look for a rainbow and find only dust.
I wish for a dream and wake up in a trance.
I cling to a smile and choke on a sob.
I tender my hand and bring back the air.
I reach for the man and find no one there.
The Year of the Bears:
Side by side through the winter, tucked in like bears,
We snuggled and hugged and shared all our cares, we teased and we walked,
And we whispered a lot, until suddenly spring and at once you were not . . .
not mine and not there, not here and nowhere, Your eyes empty in mine,
Your lies never on time, until grieving, I knew from your trend, that our magical mystical,
Marvelous years of the bears had come to an end.
I dread you now, dread your touch and the smile that doesn't warm me anymore.
I dread you now, your hand that frightens, makes me flinch and hurts me to the core.
I dread you now, your anger quicker than the laughter that we knew.
I dread you now, dread the sight of all that I longer see in you.
You run in and out of my simple life, as though it were a game,
A child's sport, a sort of forest where you can dart among the trees.
Now I see you, now I don't.
Perhaps you will, perhaps you won't.
The phone lies still.
It means you're happy somewhere else.
The phone then comes alive again.
It means you're tired of the world of men.
You come, you go, you flit, you fly.
You run into my arms, you lie.
And then I see you, standing there, playing peekaboo behind a tree.
Oh, no. No more. This time I score.
Farewell, poor childish man. Have your fun.
Live your life. Play all your games. But not with me.
I can't bear it anymore, I can't . . .
Too much anger, too much pain, too much sorrow, too much rain,
No matter how madly we once loved each other,
I can't trudge another step on this lonely journey by myself . . .
left here on the shelf where you put me for safekeeping, I sit here,
Always weeping, waiting for your return, while deep inside I burn with slow despair . . .
I care . . . oh, darling, yes, I care . . . but now I can't, I won't ,
I will not sit here dying, fading, crying, loving, hating,
Waiting for the fates to deposit you in my arms once more with your smile so rich and slow . . .
Oh, no, my love, I can't love you or not, this time . . . I go.
Silence on the Stair:
I watch the top of his head as he travels quickly downward into the vortex of the spiral staircase,
Running down, lightly like water down the mountainside,
his feet barely touching one step before they rush headlong toward another . . .
He waves his hand, then looks up, sunlight dancing on his face.
It is a moment filled with grace . . .
And then despair.
Before I gave my heart it's head to tell it's tale, I let him go, I let him flee,
To dance his freedom dance so far from me.
Gone now. Gone.
And only silence on the stair.
In desperation I counted my fingers whom to call, to turn to, reach out for, cling to.
Seven, eight, nine people to hold close . . .
Nine, seven, four, none.
Mistaken I had been in desperation, finding that others wouldn't do.
I only wanted him.
Fear not, Farewell:
Fear not, sweet love, the hands of time, for poems do not always rhyme,
Fate runs it's course and plays it's tricks and in the last and final mix,
One wins it all and loses naught, if love was good and battles fought to their final end,
Goodbye, sweet love, farewell, my friend.
Someday is a place, a time, a dream, a blade of a summer grass, dried out,
And reminiscent of a day when someday was reality and filled with hope.
Someday was a word we used to taunt each other, a distant spot we hungered for,
But were anxious not to find too soon.
Someday was a yearning a man I knew and loved, in a someday sort of way,
Because today was never quite his style.
Someday was a child we would have had, but didn't, a time I knew would come, never has.
If I can:
How do I find my way back from the place where you led me?
The arbor, the swing, the lilac, the ring, the promises,
the dawn, the dreams that they spawned.
It is all different now,
you aren't a boy, you're a man.
But show me, my love, the way back from it all, and I'll follow the path If I can.
Devastating, debonair, delightful man, and I, the dazzling darling, as face to face we dance,
We dance, we waltz, we do a minuet of hope on our desert isle,
I laugh, you smile, we float with glee, together hand in hand, so free,
Then suddenly I see the narrow band of gold that holds you fast,
And at last you see that I am fettered by the same,
And now it is a kind a game, as you hold my arm,
I touch your sleeve, enjoying the pretend forever magic of our Cinderella eve.
Snow in your Hair:
Snow in your hair, not age, warmth in your heart, not rage, a smile in your eyes just for me,
I lean gently back and you are my tree.
Your heart has been farther than mine, you love your cognac, your cigars, your white wine.
There's no haste in your pace, you no longer must race, no more do you flee or break dates,
No need to rush past, dodging fates.
You give me the sun the moon in your palm, you need me, you love me, you make me feel calm.
You gave the woman I wanted to be, you hold me so gently and let me feel free,
We stand close together and smile at our truth.
You gave me the sun, now I give you my youth.
Yes, love, I know, it's hard for both of us . . .
My wanting, needing, hoping, waiting, almost seeming to be bating as I reach out in a way that fills
you with fear . . .
It's alright, runner man, it's okay, yes, I know you'll stay while you can then you'll go and I'll grow,
And I'll cry for a while . . .
ssh . . . it's all alright, darling, smile.
I shan't get you lost in a life that you dread, as visions of wedding rings dance in your head.
Fear not, don't flee.
I only want you close to me.
I care about you. I like you.
I relate you. I understand you.
I feel for you. I'm fond of you.
You're dear. Oh, no, my dear.
You're not even here, nor barely there with your "fond" words that relate to like and care.
You are nowhere. I need you, want you, love you.
That's what's really there, but do you dare?
The Inside of your Arm:
You make me love to me as though you wore the manual on the inside of your arm.
Your touch, you feel, you reel, you slide along the inside of my thigh . . .
You sigh, you smile, you keep yourself aloof,
you arch sharply toward the roof, you moan,
And then you glance to see if by chance I am as transported as you want me to think you are . . .
But no, no different than a backseat of a car a century ago,
And then as well there's one tiny tender thing that you, friend, forgot with all your ravishing,
ravaging, macho, sexy, free! . . . you never even kissed me.
Funny that they all come back.
They always do.
Back they come with a change of a heart, long after they had gone.
Back they come with all the words I wanted once to hear.
But they come back too late.
Ears go deaf, hearts die, moments pass and time ceases to be much importance.
This time make it different.
Bring him back while I still care.
Now I Want the Have:
I've face it then, have I?
I supposed I have.
The magical answer to the cannonball question "What do you really want?" I have want,
Now I have want the have, the touch, the hand, the real, the feel of the same leg cast easily
over mine for a decade of winter mornings . . .
for two decades . . . or three . . .
that same leg flung over me, the same smile.
A sameness. Oh, God, yes I'd love that.
I've tasted the hors d'oeuvres, nibbled at the cakes, the pies, tasted all the lies of liberty and free.
Who sold me that?
I want mine back, the savage sweet of same and same again
The same sweet man to share a life of love and have and same with me.
Are You Comfortable?:
Are you comfortable? Can you breathe? Two pillows or one?
Is my arm is crushing yours? Is your leg wedged too tight under mine?
Are my hipbones too pointy? My nipples too small?
Oh, stranger asleep at my side here tonight, Are you warm?
Am I safe? Could you love me at all?
Nary a Care:
You're gone, new lover.
Gone to your day, to your life, to your way of doing things,
Whatever it is you do, when you are far from me.
And I, like a child with a dream, gaze starry-eyed into the summer rain feeling anguish,
gentle pain, fearing you will vanish from the bright universe we created side by side last night.
And then, in bittersweet despair, I linger with a cup of tea, fearing you have forgotten me,
feeling foolish old with fright, yet young with promise long forgotten in my distance dreams . . .
And suddenly, you're at the door. full of brand-new schemes for this path we choose to share.
Home from your wars, from your tasks from your days,
with a nary care and only more love to strew on my way.
I rush to your arms with a gurgle of laughter, a thunder of glee.
Dream man come true, you actually did come back to me!
Each of Us:
Each of us with our secrets gifts, magic potions, lovely notions, waiting to be shared,
Waited to be aired, each of us a half, a whole, a mind, a soul, a heart,
And yet a part of a better richer more, looking for the door, the key, the you, the me,
The we growing day by day, looking for the way to find what I'd always dreamed and never seen,
Always tried and never seen, always thought but never knew,
Until at last I discovered that the gift I sought was you.
Life with it's odd endings and beginnings, it's occasionally very painful middles,
It's surprise hellos, and at times astonishing adieus, it's greens, it's grays, it's reds, it's blues,
It's flowers which come like sunbursts on a gloomy day, given by a man you barely know,
And it's birthdays forgotten by the man you love . . . Life with rare gifts, it's strange charm,
it's strong arm, it's vast sass, it's more occasional boot in the ass, it's blunt pain, it's bleak rain,
It's sorrow and it's grief . . . is somehow all too brief, like a Cinderella ball, so deck the halls,
Put on your pumps, your furs, your minks, don't shrink, put on your tiara, step out, prance high,
Chin up, dance nigh the flame with flames with eyes aglow, and above all, dear friends,
Before you go, before it ends, and there remains no further tale to tell, dare once . . . twice . . .
Often if you choose, but dare, yes, dare to love, and if you do, make sure that you love well.
For love is worth it all, is worth a call, a dream, a scheme, a sleepless night,
a carriage ride, or crossing half of the world, for a glimpse, a touch, a truth . . . for love is,
youth, is fun, is grand . . . a carnival . . . an opera ball . . . . for the truth to tell,
Love is life . . . and Life is Love . . . and Love is Life.
The Gift of Love:
Ever hopeful, filled with dreams, bright new, brand-new, hopeful schemes, pastel shades and
Wedgwood skies, first light of loving in your eyes, soon to dim and then you flee,
leaving me alone with me, the things you said burning rivers in my head,
bereft of all we shared, my soul, so old, so young, so bare, afraid of you, of me, of life,
of men . . .until bright new dreams begin again.
The landscape never quite the same, eventually a different game, aware at last of what I know,
and think, and am, and feel, the gift of love at long last real.