During the late afternoons I sit at the counter of Woolworth’s sipping vanilla coke watching the day turn into night or dollar green but it seems as Gershwin said, not for me. It is dog days and I am hot and tired and mostly luckless, angry too, my new love dying on the vine. I daydream myself into a hot soak in a fancy clawed foot bath tub sinking my dusty body into lilac scented bubbles. I imagine lying back with closed eyes as the hot water flicks at my peony nipples. I am what one would call self employed these days.
Settling for a motel shower stall I scrub my body that smells of dusty magnolias with rose scented oil until it glimmers like alabaster. Dutifully stepping into a black sheath and slipping on thigh high seamed stockings and heels saved for the occasion I confidently make my way onto Bourbon Street. At the corner the sounds of a sax carry through the open door of a darkened bar drift up the alley over the pink roof of a sad brothel. From my booth I stare through a prism of glass at the Dog Star and blow a kiss to the man in the moon already yawning at the deep purple sky.
At the wharf I lean back against the damp stone wall, sip my drink and yield to the slippery salamander of sea. The moon is a glistening slice of melon, her whisper carries on the wind “moon child I love you too”. Sinking deeper in to my subconscious I watch a velvet sea bird swoop my reflection from silver waves where the sighs of lovers are lost in a monsoon. Old images flicker across my frontal lobe as I liberate sip by sip. That man with the golden veins doesn’t interest me anymore. Later when my pearl skinned body breaks the surface I’ll bring him back again.
art by Steve Hanks
The world is wintry blue.
Vast and still yet there
is no comfort in the quiet.
The wolf inside me shakes
the snow from her fur,
travels through dark timbered
forests and blue gray mountains.
There are others moonstruck,
dusted with the same shine.
Together we trace a midnight
hover of crows unaware.
Your glass is always half empty, whiskey the color of your eyes when you are aroused. I shut my eyes and fixate on the whir of the overhead fan. When you reach for me I turn away, practicing my “out of body” I look down from above until my eyes close. Later we share a hand rolled cigarette, silently watch the curls rise and rip apart in the blades. Your soft eyes ensnare me, expose my liability. It is so easy to distract you, pulling back the sheets we laugh, make love and pull away. Your eyes are the sparkle of stardust, a boy at the top of a Ferris wheel. I swear to not meet again but my heart is a red sports car racing along a razor’s edge.
art by Fabian Perez
this is not meant for you
though you were there.
I am what I have always been,
an elixir of words.
I will not erode like the sand
or patience if it ever was.
Washed up on a restless shore
I knocked and you opened the door.
Now, like the pearls beneath my feet
I carry no burden save love.
borrowed from Pinterest
Firelight dances through the bistro,
We lean in close and when our eyes meet
the rain storm streaming down the
stain glass window reclaims us.
Swept away through sea caves,
caverns and seal black maelstroms
we ride the darkness,
take only what we need.
Thieve stealing only from ourselves.
You are perplexing.
When my eye lids close your aura lingers.
I pretend to understand but I have yet to unravel the enigma.
Your soft growl grips my emotions, holds me tender with soft pads
or still with the urgent press of teeth at my throat.
What I know of you I’ve learned through osmosis
those flickers of sentiment deep as roots of teeth.
My instincts send out a warning but with you so near it is too late.
One thing I know for certain you are skilled at breaking and entering.
Some nights I must draw a line,
a demarcation where dreams
and subconscious bend perception
to shape reality.
In my savage dreams I peel back my skin
press bristles of feathers through my bones
take to the sky on a fury of wings
In search of your harem among the clouds .
art by Karol Bak
Your jeans are tight on your thighs, you are unshaven, beautiful. I’m surprised that I notice, I never really see you anymore. Arm in arm we linger at the duck pond where you pull a packet of bread crumbs from your back pocket. The feathery creatures come rushing up, their seeking eyes expectant. Mostly, I admire their detachment. Lately when we make love it is without passion, lifeless. I think about other men, I imagine that. I would never want you to know. You are so pure, so trusting, it is frightening. Sitting on the park bench lovers pass by, one is fierce and arrogant, the other emaciated, eyes corpse like. They don’t speak. I sigh, like one who loves but is far away.