-
Not all dance is vertical.
I can make your dreams come true.
-
Leave your worries at the playground.
They will have trouble escaping your rooms.
-
Wind is trapped in trees outside,
trying to escape by whistling branches
and screeching roots.
-
Caravaggio kissed my lips
when his brush kissed my nipples.
and my leathery tail,
playing old lute,
dropped with rigid surrender.
-
If my life was better I’d never be me.
My thoughts don’t receive parenting.
My feelings don’t need corrections.
-
Musical molecules in my mind
weigh more than notes on sadness in my thighs.
-
Remember where we grew up?
Remember how we thought we’d grow old there too?
look at me now -
lost on the other side of the planet,
dreaming about our old house.
-
We lay on the floor
and bit by bit
the wooden bark of the earth warmed up
with the heat from our bodies,
inherited from the sun.
And grass broke the cage to thank us
for delivering hope
that sun still exists.
-
Do you remember taking me to places in New York
for the first time?
Places I’d already seen?
I’d give up all my memories
for a night in your room.
-
Don’t be angry.
They never knew us.
There were too busy jumping
from one train to another
to watch the ones
who were jumping under one.
-
Melodies I know,
the smell of your skin,
always go down
better than gin.
-
I found no place in my room.
I am your outside creature,
exotic animal,
imported from “oversees”,
to amuse and entertain you
when you’re running low on weed.
Am I a good trip or a bad one?
-
Dandelions and daisies
and your fingers on my eyes
Too afraid to touch.
Ivy and moss
and my lips on your belly
too afraid to kiss.
-
Paper fly and paper bee.
You’re my favorite melody.
-
I promise kindness to myself.
-
I will be your summer in December.
I will never be your winter in August.
-
So many people are at war with their bodies.
Yoga has been the way to make peace with mine.
And sometimes, if I am lucky,
Asana does feel like a celebratory dance
Of the space I inhabit.
In and outside of my physique.
-
I am a cat
and I want to fuck a creature
who will get under my skin,
not the ones who brush my fur,
and bring me food,
and caress my back.
-
Do you remember the old piano
that floated in the living room
every time you played it?
-
You see Rembrandt in my shoulders.
I see Rothko in the sky.
-
I collect small, ivory objects
that come with the night,
not unlike the moon.
-
I bit the tulips you sent me.
They don’t bleed.
Neither do they taste like you.
-
You bought me wine.
Melon bled its sweetness without care.
