Friday, June 16, 2017

The Frame

I know that if we had just grown up together with someone who knew how to frame us, we would have beautiful compositions of our bodies together. My legs elongated around you, with just the right amount of sun kissed hue. Our faces lit by the dimmest of candle light. Our teeth as white as paper. How rapturous it must be to have flawless documentation of moments spent together, the pose almost meaning more than the experience itself. The angle. The crop. The backdrop. Just right.

But we grew up capturing the blurry instant that had no filter. Our bad wardrobe decisions, cratered faces and wooded-lots bare for everyone to see. Maybe no physical documentation exists for those moments. Did they even happen?

I'm sure that the feature of our faces could look proper with professional direction. The height of my heels would be perfect. The fold of your suit, superb. The artist would know just where to place the contrast and bump up the shadow to make us look otherworldly, the most in love. 

Friday, February 24, 2017


There are a few mountains in orbit around me who think they can land whenever they chose. They lay claims to my beating heart and the breath that fills my lungs. They purchase the skin that holds my ribs and stake a flag on my thighs. They hover and touch down, kicking up the dust of my memories and scattering the papers of experience all about my runways. I'm usually left, standing bare, in the middle with disheveled and dry hair, thirsty for any liquid and wondering how I got caught up in someone else's air. The vortex of a few words snaps me up violently and acutely.  I am theirs during the exchange.

Friday, January 6, 2017

Current Realizations

The virtual exchanges were all initiated by me, I realize now. Those quick, fast hearted chats and emails were all I had to keep my blood pumping in those days. You came back, though, a few months later after my will had perished, to tell me you were having a beer downstairs and to join. Your terms.  I am sustained by your distant longing, enveloping every bend of my legs and arms. It braces my regular movements and insulates me. My buffer, the transcendant and irreplaceable first magick light.