(For the Daisy Lady)
Now she's giving me the eyes -
Oh, shit, she's giving me the eyes.
I've been swearing up a storm lately
And I think I've found the peach pit
Of my heart to be prepared for her and emptied to nothing,
Nothing so it can hold her wind chime voice
And her darling mind just twisting and twining
Itself into a brooch, to be wedged in my dreams, where there is a space.
Four years, over a span of countless men and women.
Four years, and she stays on my mind, just stays on
In the background, as a film, a moving picture, a tongue-in-cheek movie
About a Carmilla and her sweet fleshy victim of feelings.
She gives me the eyes as we're walking through the trees.
It's there that we compare each other to art,
I being a painting of feminine, wild, red waves, to her,
And her being one where flowers gather round her, and pirouette, to me.
She is the Phoenix, the antique, the surf.
She is the power, the rising, the save.
She is both abstinence and Sapphic oooh,
And she just happens to be overstaying her welcome in
My mind, dancing around a bit, leaving me please-ing,
Please-ing for her pleasing.
What started our as just a sweet friend
Has turned into the well of my sensuality.
She is my pleasant surprise, so I give her the eyes, too,
And watch as she habitually repeats my own actions of shyness.
Don't be afraid of my body, what it may serve.
Don't be afraid of my hair, though it faints so redly to my backside.
Don't be afraid of my eyes, for you, they sweep the plains.
Don't be afraid of my words, because they are yours.
Don't be afraid of my lips, for they want to heal all spiritual lepers.
Don't be afraid of the neither, the either, the or -
Don't be afraid of a touch at my thoughts.
And don't be afraid of the butterflies, Those little violences, within me.
And I won't be afraid of your body, or its magnetism.
I won't be afraid of your hair, that chestnut brown bundle of carnations.
I won't be afraid of your eyes, not after their long distance calls to me.
I won't be afraid of your words, because they are mine.
I won't be afraid of your lips, they hold vital secrets and lore.
I won't even be afraid of your heartbeat, resounding as thunder.
I can be your man,
Your man who happens to dare to be your queen.
Whatever you say I could, I would
And
You
And
I
Could have all this, we could have it all, yet
Time
Is a red velvet cake, bought especially to be savored.
Time, honey. Time.
YOU ARE READING
SUNSHOWERS
Non-FictionA book of poetry. A book of tears. A book of blood and sweat, too. A book to hold me. Will you let it hold me?
