Consider part of a human heart,
a left ventricle
or tricuspid valve
ripped to shreds.
The frayed fleshy bits frantically forced back together in an incomplete puzzle
The tug-of-war between
The carefully calculated prose
pulling heart’s strings
in the delivery of fresh oxygen
and the removal of metabolic waste.
The answer, simply, is
to drown Desire in the freshly opened lake
holding her head under freezing waters
her warm salt tears stripped away in a
single displacement reaction with ice crystal catalyst
systole and diastole
systole and diastole
systole and … diastole
hanging onto winter like
hangnails, bleeding cuticles
she can’t stop picking.
This tangle of hair,
a rat’s nest of memories
of self-doubt in the face of
carefully constructed conversations.
This blonde hair
needs never met;
A brown hair our meeting, mingling
flesh on flesh;
This pink hair a frazzled friendship
trust torn from the scalp;
And the long, curly hair found under your blankets.
I wallowed in heavy curtains of human hair
yours, mine, hers
a keratin coffin
for Too Long.
How to trust again?
How to love?
With conditioner and comb,
I pick mats apart strand by strand
sometimes scratching too hard at the scabs of your scalping
flakes falling on pillows
for lovers to see.
Detangler and patience.
still threaten to choke when they catch in my throat
As I sweep dusty split ends under the rug.
Through an open door I peak as you slip on your skirt
your flesh holding secrets whispered nervously in my ear
like toes touching under tangled cotton sheets
or subtle musks after a long ride your thighs flexing with each push
of a pedal.
Secrets Delicious, like the hardness of your cock in arousal
or the sweet softness
your belly my Safe Space.
warm and enveloping or
rough and commanding desires I freely meet
as I am helpless in your chest-hair refuge.
My favorite freckle
which sits on a nose
on a face that fills my entire being with relief to be
grandmother of this grove
I follow turkey feathers and deer scat to your doorstep,
a wall of weeping tendrils quietly crying
somber celebration of Spring.
Snows have vanished, revealing secrets
left by raptors roosting in your tangled arms
twiggy chambers criss-crossing
dissecting spaces warm and inviting.
Thimbles of fur scattered about
and the remains of feathery feasts
Last Year’s cicada skin somehow preserved
under your permanent security.
I cautiously invade your sacred circle
as intruder asking permission to enter,
to run hands over smooth bark,
to contemplate lazy streams of slow-moving sap.
I place a finger
gently collecting a single drop of your golden juice
dabbing on wrists a sticky forest perfume.
Soft spiked arms hug my shoulders
a green shawl draped heavy across my chest.
I’ve waited for this embrace.
You give me everything by caring not,
Nature’s apathy my deep comfort.
With the wind you respond
infinite hands reaching to the sky:
“Stand up, dear one, and love with all your heart.”
– 16 March 2015