A storm before twilight.

I am beat on the surface of drowning
I am wet on the four A.M. street
I am water to breathe for the first time in months
I can live with the clouds on my skin

dancing free from the eaves and the trees
with my skin dripping sorrow and sweat
sweet lightning to clear out my cluttered yet charming
the child that spins underneath

I want raining to gather my eye wells
for mosquitoes to light in my pools
I want breeding commenced on my body
changed from feeding to egg-laying flesh

I am born in the mid-summer storming
I become but the pavement itself
with percussion alight on my breathing
I want ricocheted melodic breaths

and when heavens give what I'm wanting
I will fly through the streaks of the night
I will kiss to cielo my secrets
gasping heavy my air on the lawn

of your neighbors all sleeping quite silent
and breathe quick the earth twice again
you are wet with a soon-after thunder
you are hiding the shadows of homes

Fumer tue

She
likes the sound when her embers hit water.
Likes the smell of her nose against you.
Likes making a mess in your clean little world
and

ain't gonna smoke her last blonde
til she she needs it
gonna smoke her last blonde
in the port
gonna smoke her last blonde
over nonsense and blitz
gonna smoke her last blonde
over not looking back
black coffee
and salt on her face

ain't gonna smoke her last blonde
til she kisses you
one last time
and maybe
perhaps
it will be
one last time

ain't gonna smoke her last blonde
til she needs it.
With a little luck
she won't forget you

ever
ever
ever
til she meets you again

and she'll look in your eyes
over nonsense
in the airport
and once again

She will smoke her first blonde when she wants it
and can make a small mess in your world
and can suck in the smell of your skin through her nose
and listen as her embers hit water
in your clean little world
she will be
once again
once again.

053009

From the Spanish women I learned how to be feminine.

From the men I learned how to say, "No."

From the American boy I learned how a heart can break
and break again.

From the Colombian, I learned to trust again.

Through a loss of faith I learned how to stand on my own.

Through a silk rose I learned the mystery of romance.

On a desperate day I saw how love never really fails.

In that moment, I resolved that bitterness is insignificant.

Through loosing you I learned what it is to be alone.

And in my loneliness, I learned comfort in the sound of a voice.

I also learned the breakdown when that voice pulls my chest to release.

And in that moment, I once again learned who I really am.

070309

"It won't be long, now
before we can hear
the call to prayer."
was finally
you said to me.

I fell asleep
intertwined
my arms around
my fingers bound
between your skin
your breath on mine.

You bathed me twice
in sugar wine
the hallow sound
of one thousand
watermelons
ripe from the vine

and we danced
fever to fever
flesh to sand
castle to skin
we danced

music by the ocean
an African beat
our bodies a burning
ash pulled through the streets

and we danced
music slipped
a shadowed glance
lyric to lip
between strings of beading
between hidden shops

music in the mud
guitar in your hands
and chased down the alleys
our fiery dance

a melody meeting
in sand and then fleeting
encountered twice
under Moroccan lamps
under stone and stemming
under no pretense

You sang along
together our song
we became the bliss
most influenced
they came to catch on
they came to steal

we became music
we became beat
drumming the planet
roots through our feet
we became
and we danced

We danced the sofa
with hands to our hands
heartbeats rewritten
a rhythm enhanced
a flash of colored glass

We danced the doorway
a passing of heat
a pushing of friction
adorning addiction
and into the alley

We danced the way
light foot to the fray
a song for the mange
a wind that maintains
the city itself

we danced together
became one another
pulled deep in our lungs
the city our mother

and we became,
we became
what becomes
the breath of a lover
the night and no other
we become

She breathes with white water.

The sound of your voice trails whispers on a thick salty wind. I smell you drifting through the window on a breeze that has crossed the ocean. You come from the north, like the heat from the stars; and now I see you lighting in my eyes.

I am looking deeper and you become a soft brush against my arm in the crowd of the markets. You become the quiet chaos of the city around me. You creep into my ears and fill the dreams of those you've never met with your music.

You are here and I feel it. I find you in the sweetness of wild Moroccan honey and the bite of each spice the shopkeeper opens for my nose. I find you in the eyes of the street ravers and the curling smoke of the dark Moroccan hash.

Each night I meet the sea and dip my toes in under the moon. I feel you crashing in the waves and know that you will meet me in the current. And again, there is that breeze that travels from in from America; your scent is on that wind.