Skimming the surface

books-1655783_1920.jpg

I feel seen by your eyes; this frightens me

A bead of sweat drips down your face. I stare, enthralled. I find myself contemplating its flavor.

Your mouth has got me shook. I cant. Stop. Staring.

I peek inside your mind and find it lined with shelves, littered with papers and books, some left open and forgotten. I imagine you skim through them from time to time. But only when necessary

I want to be there when you get out of the shower to smooth your skin with shea butter while your body is still steaming, and hot, and wet

Sometimes, I imagine you’re stretched out beside me. We lay on cool green grass below a tall sprawling tree, sheltered from the blazing sun

you know how when you’re reading and you realize your mind has wandered? Well, my mind wanders to you

I fantasize about loving you. For this, I blame you and I blame Audre. In no particular order.

If I’m right, you think of me slightly less than I think of you, this both draws me back and drives me forward

List for me the following:

your favorite book

your favorite poem

your favorite song

I want to search for you in their words

The next time we are alone, I will not tell you how I feel

I write around you, not about you. I tell myself skimming over you is easier than diving in.

Letter to an Unnamed Lover

I had a good day today. I laughed often and drank good coffee and tried a new beer. It was good. Made with coconut. I sat at the bar and stared at the writing on my open notebook page. Words written while lifted with pot and booze. Something about my heart and the universe and the connection between the two.  

I talked with some strangers. Women. Beautiful. They seemed extra human to me today, set against the backdrop of a sort of nightmarish reality I see forming around me. Their eyes seemed brighter somehow…I don’t know. 

I’m writing you this letter because I don’t know who else to turn to. I need you now, in a way I’ve never needed anyone. I need you to rise up and meet me. To light me up, rip me open. I need you to teach me how to be human. How to have passion. 

How to connect.

I have a broken vagina. It stopped working months ago, well, years ago. Truth be told I’m not 100% certain it got hooked up properly. I need you to repair it. I don’t care what you’ve got to do down there, but make it right.

I know it seems like I’m asking a lot from you, but I don’t know who else to turn to. I don’t know who else to lean on. I’ve known you for so long, and you’ve carried me through so much, I just need you to be here for me now. I need you to tell me I’m beautful, whisper sweet nothings in my ear, dust off my knees when I fall down. I need you to be my steady voice of encouragement when the world just seems like too much.

Because the world seems like too much.

I need you to do this for me. For us. For this. This wild, maddening, gorgeous haze we call life. Because, lover, it’s going to get worse before it gets better. I promise. And I need you.

Rivers

Anxiety rips at my core

Like a knife – carves at my flesh

Jagged, uncertain lines

Blood rises to the surface

Leaks out from tattered

Crimson-soaked skin

Runs down my chest,

Making rivers of my legs

Warm, wet, slick

Pooling at my feet

Dripping between cracks

Of well-worn floorboards

Looking down, I sigh,

This is certain to leave a stain.