Inspiration from a Friend

Remember the time when
You pulled me into the back of the cab
Told the driver to drive until we told him to stop
Held my wrists in one hand
While your other found its way
To all the places it needed to go
Breath on a window, fogged pane
I could see the eyes of the driver staring into mine
You could not see him
He could not see you
I bit my lip until I drew blood
Trying to not cry out
You licked it away, my lip
Pulled my coat together
And told the driver to stop.

The tip was given
But not needed, a sight
For sore eyes had been fulfilled.

We stumbled out,
I was wet from the rain
And my legs were to weak to walk.
We made it to a brownstone
You pulled my shirt away as you pulled me close,
My lips teeth tongue on your chest,
And you took me, there on the cool wet red-brown rock
Our cries, my scream
Silent in the passing rain
Except to the passing cabs
Whose backseats still felt our impression,
A collective unconscious of heat and desire
And a few drops of evening dew.

Just something I'm workin' on

I believe it started when Allison came back from her summer abroad. She said that God had touched her while she was gone, that she had received some kind of divine inspiration, that she was a chosen one.

I asked her if she was serious.
She said yes.

I smiled then, slightly, the well-worn creases that I had begun to notice in my face a bit deeper than usual due to the amount I had drunk the night before, in the knowledge that she was coming home. Nodding, I took her coat, her bags; began to carry them to our room. She was home now, and that was all that mattered, no matter what nonsense she had begun talking about.

Yes, I had put one on the night before; the thought that she was returning, that I had accomplished so little, that I would have to tell her certain things I had done – all of it proved too much to think about. I had politely asked the girl I woke up next to at dawn to leave very early, and, eager to avoid a problem, had cooked her breakfast and made her coffee. I believe she took that as a sign of affection; I took it as a polite way to kick her out of my house after having fucked her all night without causing a scene. My wife, so to speak, was returning home, and I wanted all traces of everyone who had graced our bed while she had been away gone by the time she arrived at 7pm.

I had then set about the task of vacuuming, mopping, sweeping, dusting, laundry, changing sheets, cleaning up after the cats and the dog, double-checking for undergarments that weren’t hers, erasing emails, cookies, and answering machine messages, and throwing out everything and every trace of everyone that I didn’t feel would benefit her knowing about at this time.

I then sat in front of the computer, with a snifter of cognac, for nearly two hours; trying to compose a love letter of sorts, the one, perhaps, that I had not sent the whole time she was gone, but that she had always wanted.
Better late than never, I thought darkly, daylight turning to twilight turning to early evening; the blank screen as much a testament to my lack of affection as the empty bottom of my glass was to my affinity towards drink. I poured another, and had gotten halfway through a paragraph that delighted in the velvet touch of her lips on my breast, when I heard her key in the door downstairs.

I met her as she made her way halfway through the front hall; her blond curls falling all around her face, made all the more beguiling by the small smile she had for me. I took her in my arms as she dropped her bags, kissing her deeply; running my fingers through her locks and taking in her scent. It had changed; whereas before it was more floral, now it was earthier, muskier, like an animal that has been in the forest. I liked it, and let my hands roam over her body for a moment, my face buried in her neck, inhaling her scent.

She pulled away from me and looked at me with that half-smile of hers; her eyes searching mine for answers to questions she had perhaps been saving for the past three months. She cupped my face in her hands and rubbed her nose against mine, slowly.

“Eskimo kiss.” She said, and bit her lip. I grinned and laughed, remembering all the things I loved about her and why I had chosen to stay so long.
“I have something so important to tell you.” She said.

“Oh really?” I had already grabbed one of her bags. She took my arm and made me put it down.

“Yes,” she said, her voice thick with emotion. Oh, here it is, I thought, here is where she asks me about the other women, or that she needs space, or that I didn’t write and she’s so upset…
“I found God while I was gone. He spoke to me…told me things. I am one of his children.”

I didn’t know what to say. That was not at all what I had expected. All I could do was smile, grab her bags, and pretend that she was simply pulling my leg. Or was temporarily mad.

Happy Knew Year

Was what was shouted from rooftops,
What they laughed in the streets,
Drunken celebration, hopeful kisses
And the possibilities that maybe this year
Would find a new way to live
One, no doubt, less in self-imposed exile,
Procrastination, inebriation (ah, yes, the irony), self-flagellation
The world a proverbial oyster,
On a string, as the song says,
Swung around and around
While we all held on,
Hoping we wouldn't fall off,
Delighted that gravity would not set in until morning.

I am willing to try to recall
All the events of a spotted past,
Divide them by all of the uncertain possibilites of the future,
Add my Karma
Multiply them by my dreams
Subtract my fears
And find a sum total of all that I can really be for this year onward.

I wish the same for you, my dear
As you walk home,
Your gait broken, your mind restless,
Disheveled in your mind's tempest
Scattered in your body's pain;
You are light incarnate if you choose to be
Your soul's beauty like the moonbeams in the rain.