first southern night

That first warm southern night without anything of just before. How the sky had these levels of radical, historical, old piercing blues forming and I felt like a crash of all the women I’ve tried to be. 


I could still feel if I tried, like the aches and pains of you trying to try, but instead I just feel the sweat on my skin for the first time this thrilling summer, and the fresh clothes, and the lightening bugs...like I woke up to all new sensations, like winter was just yesterday. The yesterday’s winter of bending, and racing across the snowy city, and thinking that Metra track headed to your city, any way it turned. 

Now there’s just a free open space of the smells I can breathe in again. Of the nights that used to be something else..., and that strange blue sky changing, and this balmy neighborhood that’s still exotic in some lingering way...and a repeating pattern I’m determined to shake this season and every one later. 

Like a new dream, in a newer one, here goes the fun :). 

Just thoughts - Boston 4

Now let's talk about last night.
Are there words yet, again? Cause I only remember colors and I, -haha- can't stop the smile at the turn of every unrelated thought.
    It's all "just happy thoughts" blended at night. It's all the best I've ever seen of you, who you are, and what's formed together behind that handsome face.

I should get it together. I should start organizing back to cool factor - I should ready for the time between again... with vague metaphors and work around distractions.
    But if all I ever say right, are a few words of this space, then I've done a goodness to the future. To the heart, and all it has ahead; unknown.

Let's remember how we slept,
where we placed one another in movements
- and what the morning sounded like.

Let's meet at the top of something, or say something like that... But ya know, wherever it goes doesn't matter for now - cause for nights ahead I'll sigh asleep thinking of that memory. I'll see it on the seas, I'll hear it in the rhythm, and I'll think of you that way.

Because I laugh at all the ways you just exist, and you never quite get my joke. But we walk through city after city with everything to say and no way to choose.
So lead where to follow, or look at me with that happy goodbye - it'll all work out either way.

    For now, this morning in your arms will be my happy place for all of what I can see onward, into summer.








. . .

How's that for destiny

It's gone now. The last shadows of the darkness, the last tiny corners of the bad - I feel so sweet - it's been healed.

That was it, and a whole story more. (Later.) But let's take a moment for the equal balance found. The dreamily, romantically, lived opposite of all the pain of another woman who I was. Here, there were,- are- open hearts, kind soft touch and hours long expression. Here it's so real and so good.

Because I believe everything "sits upon" opposites. And still never thought I'd feel the right side of what was the cold side. Yet here it was - my hand holding a racing heart and mine, ...mine's a completely different surface of light.

Now, I don't ode this to an old beast - I say it to archive that the "soft spring nights" of my hoping fantasy - I just had. I just travelled years of time to more joy than it ever growled I wasn't worth.

How's that for destiny?









. . .

Boston 3

So go to Boston & think of me. Cause maybe that’s the girl I should be. Maybe I, maybe you, maybe any compromise wouldn’t do — or could be found. But here we are again, saying goodbye just near that wonderful town — with flights and fears and failing plans.

I remember the exact sound, how strange, that the door made the morning that you left. It said the sounds of what we always say too late — and you were gone and off. The sheets still warm, the room still sweet, my mind and heart still soft against it all.
It could’ve been two years ago — us ending at chapter 1, hello, and on again,  so then...

And now I’ve just realized that’ll be the last. That - ah - was what I heard as it spoke and silenced all the quickened blissful falls a second old.
We tried so beautifully this time.
Weren’t we great in all the new & old & speaking souls — taking slow breathes between secrets — and then on into a laugh. So I’ll strike the deal there and try — with you remembering mine, and me remembering...your whistle in the morning. And everything before and after the close.

Another morning just hours to come.




.   .    .

Call of the dark moon

I don’t know if I want to give this up to the lost spirits of writing, but it’s thinking itself through, it’s working’ itself out, and the heat it reckons to be called out. 

He told a lullaby kind of story that night… in the past-decency hours, in the wake of wine and wanderings across cities not connected. But this dazzling story… it seeped past the hardened wolf tales of my Book Of Historical warnings… it left a haze upon itself, and my mind, that travelled the conversation. Travelled to the isles, the mystical, the great oracles of the other side of the moon. (It was the moon!) It left behind my tired feminist strongholds, (hah), and on into the real insides of religion. The seeing, and the knowing, and the let it cascade, feels… my practicing past with mythology and tastes. 

And what of feeling? What of the words could fill this telling to reality’s reflection, I’ll never quite have those. Mind yes, and touch maybe, only, can tell what you know you remember…though it’s fading fast into archival glories. 

Can try to be, try to record it; the rising to mountain heights - the unleashed passion of your magical side. I can tell you instead of where imagination meets anew, ahh, “where” can be wherever you do desire. Cause you build desire, it doesn’t hit, you build upon being a woman, a storm, a surprise at every, sweet, meeting. 

Damn, that’s not it either. 

Let me try again. Try to say of the power of slow, in a half-asleep haze of after lullabies start it all… arching, ever slowly, your back, up off the sheets. The voice ever lower into whisper, the promises ever detailed. And you rise and quicken to bliss, but the listening — the sounds of creation — in a soft dark room with him changing and falling. Me falling and sliding down into it. Till the very floor fell into wine dreams. 

Maybe that’s close. 

... So goodnight to you friends. 

.  .   .

Thaw

When the weather's just a bit warmer than it's been all this hurried winter, that it heats, and you've got a smirk holding your face, your mouth, your whole aura -- with a quickened step up concrete stairs -- headphones pulsing and heading for home in this perfect Capitol city.

I can feel for a moment - the summer self brewing back up for the first time. And I think she'll be a force this time for sure.






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Bluebeard

I'm living proof you can kill the monster.

Truly & fully with the absolute force he did show. Because what the fairy tales don't tell you is you don't even need violence - just lock him up in apathy and forget - and he'll whimper and whither in that destructive cold. Ah, that's right because the poison of it all - the poison he bestowed so slowly, so carefully, so dangerously - was already plenty enough to eat himself up entirely.

Why you're the princess with everything now sweet dear. Couldn't you see that all along?



By the hidden moon I poured a great gulp back out.. looked up at all the stars, at the beautiful life that I swear was dreamed up, so long before I even knew it could be had, in some cosmic hideaway with my ancestral name quietly upon it. Such a prayer that was. All in some long night wander it would begin...
Now the days long after go on, and they're starting now to evolve and the happy aging has begun, and I forget my own story sometimes. I forget the leap was ever destructive, was ever anything at all... because after the numb grew a joy I may never replicate. And out of the joy became a life. It all rolls like heavy waves across the night tonight -- now the brightest stars I ever did speak to in prayer because they listened finally.

Get ready. For all the incredible, yet to be known, sparkling future of great work and storytelling... all ahead (am I ready?), on it goes anyhow. Another call, another date with this city. I've got the world we believe in still rich in these veins like Baltimore alleyways where we made promises of what adulthood was.

I'm the woman again that I loved before. In childhood days waiting by the sea, in college ages of study then fury, and in sweet, now. 







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