Rendezvous Denied

Whim, Quim, Desire & Mire

Once upon a time, a tiny bubble rose up to encompass a small, localized starfield: mine. I thought – but thinking is so overrated when the heart is involved. So I acted. I reached & tugged & wrapped, pulled, but he was willing. I see now I should have issued  a disclaimer tho we did discuss some terms & conditions.

What was I asking this man? To help me remember the carnality of being female. Recall that rush of skin on skin, penetration, giving & taking breath together. Waallll, Pilgrim, here’s the thing about embarking upon dreams. That bubble can pop in a second. Fulfillment can remain a breath away or be brought in with one quick inhalation.

At one point, in thinking about the meetup, my feet were yanked back to earth so hard my teeth clacked. I cancelled our assignation; I weakened, I re-assigned our assignation. I wish I could say I was being noble & backing out because there’s a wife involved. But I was horny, he was willing, the wife would “never know.” But I would. There was coughing behind my soul, making it hard to hear my heart.

Our email correspondence was tony. Mine in poetry, his in more the style of a graphic novel. We achieved a high level of sexual tension in words via these exchanges.

But two days before the attenuated appointment, I bailed. I was coming home from Hillsboro after a cleaning gig. I never eat hotdogs, but I had a hardcore yen for a hotdog on a bun, fresh with onions & yellow mustard. So I stopped at a little eatery called “The Missing Link” where hotdogs are the main course. I acquired my tasty treat, miffed at there being a cold bun with it. Why couldn’t the owner, Randy, warm the buns?

I turned on my phone, it interrupted itself falling over message pings. I was happy to see a few from my paramour. Except he was describing his visit to a urologist for a check-up, and the note included details which were definitely TMI. It was a moment of high hilarity on one level…these things only happen to me in the universe…but eating my annual hotdog in company with three emails about his detailed examination by three female med techs of a highly sensitive area. Well, you get the picture.

That bubble popped audibly & wetly. I dropped out of our rendezvous like a meerkat disappearing underground.

My imagination clashed with my tastebuds. O Lord!

His detailed emails were to my sensibilities what a killer frost is to a budding rose. The bubblegum music stopped, the hot dog went back down onto the plate. In a moment, anything written on the slate between us was wiped clean.

There’s an empty space: no sentimental residue. I’m either really good at organic pragmatism or a cold-hearted bitch of the first order. But it’s a qualification of Libra that the knife used to cut cords be sharp enough to stop blood.

There’s always more to a story. These words run from my fingers like notes over a piano’s keys. Somewhere a symphony resides in potential. I hope to one day wind up with a man to play two-hand, a fella whose congruency with me is based on an ability to fulfill a relationship, no holds barred. Someone single.

Oops, there’s another bubble rising!

 

Once-Love: Time for You to Go

I have a hurricane for a heart, I see it from the space between us.

Counterclockwise / widdershins to time

I would turn the clocks back

And that would be easier than loving you now.

I would halt the sea as the next wave rises

So much simpler than trying not to

Write the words I want to say.

I feel tasered: my energy scatters in all directions;

My heart drums out your name

I stop my ears from answer

You cannot open these connections

You dare not flirt

For I will take you down.

And here, at my level, there are only your hands

My mouth…

And Hunger so strong

It hurts.

I cannot begin to use the words to say

What I feel

For the whole world would fall in love with me.

Swept away & far beyond

Where you have any permission to go.

 

“Ethics? The hell with ethics – it’s my life!

I am calm. I dismiss the whole event out of hand.

Then your name on an email steals across the screen

Like a French kiss.

O God, I have been here before.

No Bollywood maiden, nor even matron

But ringing with tiny bells, rolling my kohl-shaped eyes

Slipping upstairs to the bedroom

Wearing only perfume.

Why you? You unlikely beast of passion

I do not even know your whole name

Only you wear holey sweaters.

And your smile replaces where my heart once dwelt.

You test a sentence on me; I am not sure you mean to say

What I hear. I am not sure I hear

What you say.

In the variation:

Wanting so much of one

The other sets up as pain.

My body is stately now, not shapely.

But every cell remembers passion &

That unremembered is easily created.

Tongues & fingertips – even toes to slide

There is silk here & salt where memory is only love

And I am a Fool beyond the boundary of

All the handbooks for the league of decency

Burnt to ash by the simple casual reply I give.

When I have erased six messages I could not send.

 

Don’t hit reply unless you mean it

You cannot understand how easily I will seduce you with words

Bring you to heel, to your unready knees

Or at least the closest chair

When they give way on you

I worry too much about appearances

When all that is remembered are results

I would create a fountain of you

And eagerly pull this into me

My tight interior, ready hips,

I would dance you into me

So you would not see the slack breasts

Or wrinkled thighs

My musk would be your air

And your breath would catch in wonder

To enter me; the holy of holies

The prize for which gods fought in times Before.

Don’t toy with me, don’t send me cute little words

For you are not my unwed lover

To take me in any fashion

But my own.

Beware the simple sentence

That compounds to loving me

For you will never return with words

To me what I will make you feel

You will touch once

For the burn scar can only remedy

By applications of the same

And yes, this is an almighty ego

Against which you bruise

But I will not be other than I am

To Love.

When with her, the only “lie” is to lie down in opening surrender.

Dream On, It’s My Dime

One of the ways I handle current tensions & strife is through laughter. You might say I’ve had a lot of titters in my life lately, if not outright guffaws. Fortunately, I have a lilting little chuckle which engages others into at least a smile.

Once again, I dreamed of being outdoors naked. From the waist up, this time. I was carrying an open paperback in front of me, so I didn’t immediately notice. A paperback didn’t quite cover this, tho – I needed a big ole “Look” Magazine (too obvious?) or a classic edition of “Life” – not that abbreviated, shrunken offering now available.

Sadly or strangely or whatever, the man I was walking alongside of didn’t notice either. But glancing down, I realized my situation, lilted a chuckle & turned around, heading back toward the upstairs apartment where I was staying with total strangers. I did mull over, along the way, if anyone was noticing my bare-naked, be-moled back & thinking: “that woman has nothing on from the waist up.” No one tapped me on the shoulder or leered an “O Miss!” or “O Ma’am” at me. I was just bemused & wondering why no one had said anything when I exited that apartment – after all, the residents were friendly, not relatives & had surely noticed my déshabillé. Non? I felt a bit better when I spotted a cyclist who also seemed naked from the waist up, until I saw she had large flesh-covered straps criss-crossing her back. Ok, so I was the only one on this street in this state (undressed, not of the union.)

I find the older I get the more focused I am on looking young. This oxymoron can rule a life  if not taken firmly in hand – since nothing else is affixed to one place anymore, at least I can allow my beliefs to be so. When a friend treated me to a cupping demonstration which delineated how to firm up the face once again by the use of an extremely small traffic-cone-shaped item, (which resembles a thimble for a giant who cannot get the hang of sewing) plus varied accessories made appropriately of smooth stone, I was eager & embarrassed to attend. It’s unexpectedly effective in a reverse kind of way, & I find that I now have a few more wrinkles under development than before. Perhaps I’m not using it correctly? This is one where I thought I didn’t need to read the instructions but maybe I’d better find the booklet before I become a historic road marker. Although I could achieve THAT anytime I just made my dream come true…

On the 19th this month, I have a hairdresser appointment. Which leads me to wonder at the vagaries of a language where we strip our clothes but dress our hair. Before the dream of walking downtown topless, I was dreaming of my hair & woke to a call of nature picturing a great add-on I need to share with my tolerant stylist. Since I plan to have the sides clipped in closely, I may get lightning bolts shaved out over my ears. This would refute the girlfriends who are dismayed by my idea of a perm at my age. Perhaps they are picturing a senior perm – wispy gray strands over a pink scalp, unevenly curled & wavering. This is not my hair, folks. My hair has an aspect of “OMG, is that a toupee?” about it. One could upend me & mop the floor with the growth I have. It’s not a complaint, but rather a brag that I say this. However, lifelong growth patterns dictate that my hair grows only out the top of my head in any comb-able fashion. The sides tend to bush out, so it looks like I’m wearing earmuffs, but not so nicely as Leia affected in “Star Wars.” I’m serious when I say earmuffs. Recall the fuzzy kind Mom used to buy in winter? Where your entire scalp froze painfully to the wire connector, but your ears stayed warm?

I am a firm contender in the argument that VANITY, not hearing, is the last sense to depart the body. If you dispute this unscientific finding, I remind you that one of the activities of the undertaker, after gluing your mouth shut, is to apply makeup. You’re dead! What need here? It might be the only opportunity you had in your life to be out in front of friends without a big fuss on how you look. Really, what do you care? You’re supposed to be signing up for harp lessons, or getting the folds in your robe right, or learning how to artfully arrange your wings upon sitting on small gold throne-stools. But, sigh, what do I know? For me, it may be my last chance to float in out of people’s heads, trying to understand them better than I do now.

Because if age has taught me anything, it is that I will never understand people no matter how much they & I agree or nod together, or tsk-tsk together about the neighbors.

So, let’s wander out of this delightful little ramble through my head & maybe rummage in the fridge for a breakfast egg, or a bacon slice to cook up. I’m supposed to be taking my walk right now, but I have a mysteriously sore foot. And it might be chilly out there to start, so that by the time I get home, (almost) all the layers I started out with will be tied around my waist with the pocket my keys are in dragging along the ground.

I wonder if I have any cheese left for an omelet.

 

 

For A Fool Too Wise To Be Foolish

O foolish man

Who cannot accept

The hands of a woman

Looking to heal you

O holy man

Set apart from the rest

Singled out by the surprise

Of unexpected Love.

Were I you, I would find the strength

To mount the dream

Galloping so insistently through

Your benumbed psyche.

I would hold to the pommel of

My hand offered in friendship

And admiration

Even beyond their physical application

Bound only by eternal spirit…

O man in my missing dreams

Glimpsed from the corners of

Tearing eyes

What could have been

Or might have been –

Kept asunder by circumstance

By timing

By opportunities unpresented

Unprecedented,

By promises of another lifetime

Extending into these our now-lives.

I would uncross your arms

Set so firmly over your heart

I would face my face

Shining with blessing for you

Accept what is offered

Although it can never be an all from nothing.

 

O dearest man I touched with all my being

I brushed with my beating/beaten heart

O king of my wondering servitude

I would render with tendresse & laughing joy

Were you only to accept

To the limits we must draw

Within the abilities I have to offer,

For these would delimit you also.

 

O wisest man

To back away from my incendiary

Lust for life lived well

In utter expansion &

Manifest truth

It is to your bald being

A covering so soft

It is to your naked skin

A balm upending the

Hardening of your limbs

In resistance.

 

Choose your boundary lines

Implant them well, that nothing

Can reach you

For this seems what attends you best.

 

I fade outside the vision in your eyes

 

Yet I remain, as said before

A good woman looking for a good man

Who seeks a good woman.

And Fate & Faith will not leave me upended

Fallen from the blessing of your regard.

I will not resume invisibility

As my starting place

I am far too exposed to so many surfaces

To step into any background

You may fashion.

I have seared your closing heart

Too well.

 

You may choose to retreat

To cover that which thrives in lightness

But I will never again

Be who I was

For having known the potential of your love.

 

 

 

The Nevers

GOD NEVER BLINKS

I live in grace & wonder

Beneath the wheeling stars

I follow His pointing finger

Into Life unbounded by Humanity

Imperfect & sometimes off-course…

He lights my way with darkness, but grants wings

My Being: Blessed & Present.

GODDESS NEVER LOSES ME

Tho I fret about midnight awakenings

Spun from misremembering

Her love & gifting in my life

Choosing popcorn for dinner

Coffee at wee hours

This glorious chill of a deepening Fall night

Giving way to opening eyes

Casting off misperceptions of being alone

LOVE NEVER STUMBLES

As I do, sore-footed

Worn by silliness, thinking myself lost

At sea or drowned in sorrow.

MUSE WAITS FOREVER

Burning brightly her torch of perceptions

Sparks are all about me – words of

Wonder & dismay in equal measure.

WONDER NEVER CEASES

Tho I pull on shawls against the chill

And nudge the holy heater of true love

With a poke & a push until it hums on

Tho I think I’m feeling my way, alone & grasping

For all I think I do not have

Shown in this life, I have All.

LIFE NEVER DOUBTS

But expresses thru me as joy, or friendship

As lovingkindness

After despairs of my own manufacture

THANKS-GIVING NEVER FALTERS

When tingling all with its Holy Effervescence

Pushing me to love each life I have encountered

BLESSING NEVER SURRENDERS

Tho I pat it down for weapons

Before allowing entry

Into my muddy little heart

HOLINESS NEVER FAILS

To bring me to my knees

I wonder at its myriad

Expressions in my life

As food or friends or bad-hair days

When I resemble not so much of beauty

As a well-used broom, stood in a corner

With the spokes every whichway

Done with dust, observing only the shining

LIFE NEVER DIES

No matter all the evidence au contraire

FRIENDS NEVER HATE

Tho they may turn away

From the disgrace of my unbelief

Till I come ‘round again

In starkest blessing of naked need.

PRAYER NEVER HESITATES

To place powerful hands under my arms

Hauling me up to face all of this once again.

For Those Who Called in Concern

My Dear Guardian Angel,”R”

Well? What’s up with all the despair stuff?

Here’s this, Miss: Others cannot bear your pain, but you can. You always resurface, bobbing up like a cork with a smiley face. (Ok, sorry for that.)

But you know what I mean.

It is not their life – when they experience a slam-dunk of emotion, they have their own words. You manage to put it out there &, as you said, to share & show your care. Your plea for help will not go unnoticed & it will say for others what they cannot.

Others may witness, but they may not take the wheel of the boat to steer you into harbor, nor push you to do so. They can point, like the Ghost of Christmas Future, but only that.

If your vision is locked down in emotion, you’ll not perceive this at all. That’s perfectly okay. The words are given to you in their order & for their reasons. It is intent, one of the ways you bring about Change.

Yesterday was about letting go. The hotbath, the talk, the feelings, the scouring of Rose’s shop which yielded little to nothing. One small disappointment followed another – losing all your emails…unanswered questions…a crazy day for you, my anal-retentive Child.

Now you can work out that comedy routine you need to polish off for Open Mic this last Friday. Roads are clear & paths opened of obstacles Put up the fliers, hand out the broadsheets, laugh & beat the dream of the Future with a big stick, for it has brightened with the wash of your pain.

For those who console you, give thanks. They will smile to hear of your returned good cheer. This cloud has passed over your sun. you made it sound like the storm of the ages, but all that’s left is shining.

Soon the world changes: it will no longer be edged in darkness. The light will be brighter than you’ve ever seen, for the Father has taken up the polish & the Mother has surrendered her apron to dance.

Think of it as expressing the Community Angst. Give thanks the job of Sin-Eater has changed to writing words!

Don’t limit yourself to one kind of music. The blessing of your words is for all. You are the tool we use to focus, & if others catch fire, so be it. You have not been burned…blessing enough for this midnight.

Be well, my Little Old Lady. You make a fine wordsmith & your craft is sharp with unexpected Light, that all who wish to, see.

“Write on,” to coin the phrase yet again, stamping a new face upon the currency – write on.

Love,

R.

So Close To Despair, I …

There are times I am so lonely I can taste it, hear it, smell it.

I see it in my mirror.

I am feeling empty.

Not much looking forward.

So tired of dancing with shadows when I want a real partner to my steps

In my arms, in my bed, in my head

Someone to wind fingers together

To share secrets

To smile at, crooked & crinkly.

I want to grow pale in sleep

Wrapped up in a warm body

Spooned around…

My heart aches

My throat quivers

Unshed tears, unvoiced words

I cannot even see myself anymore

Invisible as the wind whistling through the holes in my head

Where confidence lived & moved & clarified my being.

Where did I go?

Subsumed. Exhausted by my own thoughts.

Hands up in surrender

Numb.

I no longer believe in myself

Or that tomorrow will be better

A tangle around the Mayday pole of my ego.

Help me through this

Versed  in conspiracy, in what might be/might have been

Primary: secondary: tertiary

Me me me

Lost at sea, surrounded by water

Only the sky is visible from here

But the clouds change too quickly

For my hope to hook onto.

I can tell you of investigations, complications,

Recriminations, obligations.

The reasons blur.

I blink them away.

I cannot testify to

Any reasons for this.

I submerge.

There are no exit signs at sea

Only depth

I have no fins, no scales,

No colors to float from here in rescue.

 

Can you lift a hand to bless me?

Lay it upon my forehead, soothe & smooth

Iron these tears to steam

Paint me on a smile?

Reinstate my life to valid?

I am here. I wait.

Lay a wreath atop the water.

Remember me for I was,

That maybe I shall be.