Annapolis
We watch the world over a bowl of Chesapeake crab dip
Calves touch, and my body radiates towards yours.
All the serene dark in the sky is quietly rising--
Pale moons bloom over assorted oaks and beeches
A hand brushes my thigh
Driving down dollhouse ocean lanes
And we get drunk
On five dollar Riesling under basement guest room blankets.
Tracing your browned skin—a gift from some bygone babushka
Trembling, trembling and
Touching, touching.
Sweet honeyed longings pass between us
Carrying us to sleep till Sunday’s harsh light.
You navigate waters backwards
Oars groan through muscled maneuvers
And I’m so turned on by your ease.
Words don’t always glide out but laughter
Refreshing, rings across the bay.
I think on the way
You kissed a chocolate truffle into my mouth
And how the salt water teasing my fingers
Has touched a world we’ve never known.
Hand occupies mine
A promise of adventures yet to come.
Cooing at cats chasing black-tipped butterflies
And slurping ice cream cones before they plummet to sidewalks.
This has become our own brand of commitment--
Clasping the hook and eye of my Sunday’s best
Folding down your collar
At the diner, the museum, the corner store.
And I know that when these bodies hit bed tonight
We’ll find that deep-rooted, needy-magic
Beyond wrinkled lemony sheets and hushed movements.
Simple joys transcribe onto other seasons--
Letters through long ocean distances
And wool coat laden airport pickups.
A finger, a second,
Your hand,
Finds mine.
My eyes chase faint stars outside the sleepy car window
And they tell me we will make it.
Calves touch, and my body radiates towards yours.
All the serene dark in the sky is quietly rising--
Pale moons bloom over assorted oaks and beeches
A hand brushes my thigh
Driving down dollhouse ocean lanes
And we get drunk
On five dollar Riesling under basement guest room blankets.
Tracing your browned skin—a gift from some bygone babushka
Trembling, trembling and
Touching, touching.
Sweet honeyed longings pass between us
Carrying us to sleep till Sunday’s harsh light.
You navigate waters backwards
Oars groan through muscled maneuvers
And I’m so turned on by your ease.
Words don’t always glide out but laughter
Refreshing, rings across the bay.
I think on the way
You kissed a chocolate truffle into my mouth
And how the salt water teasing my fingers
Has touched a world we’ve never known.
Hand occupies mine
A promise of adventures yet to come.
Cooing at cats chasing black-tipped butterflies
And slurping ice cream cones before they plummet to sidewalks.
This has become our own brand of commitment--
Clasping the hook and eye of my Sunday’s best
Folding down your collar
At the diner, the museum, the corner store.
And I know that when these bodies hit bed tonight
We’ll find that deep-rooted, needy-magic
Beyond wrinkled lemony sheets and hushed movements.
Simple joys transcribe onto other seasons--
Letters through long ocean distances
And wool coat laden airport pickups.
A finger, a second,
Your hand,
Finds mine.
My eyes chase faint stars outside the sleepy car window
And they tell me we will make it.
Amsterdam Autumn
I want a van Gogh speckled love--
mesmerizingly bright sunflowers and looming horizon crows
dusky Moroccan lamps jading dull sunrises
glistening canal wanderers
redundant milkmaid dolls in antique window shops.
I want a tulip rich affair--
vendors and sewer rats chattering
a bustle of bicycles screeching without care
stumbling across little cobblestone oak parks
customer service girls quipping in quick Dutch.
I want a wheel of smelly cheese to hold up to my brother’s nose
little pest in me unraveling
after lady-like suppression from all these grown-up years
he’ll ruin my braids and push me
onto the yellow leaf sprinkled sticky sidewalk.
He’ll read me Tolkien and I’ll whisper Pushkin
our mother’s scolds echoing up in the back of our mind
but the Amsterdam chill beckons us
so we’ll hover above cafes and crosswords
yearning for whatever treasures we’ve buried there.
mesmerizingly bright sunflowers and looming horizon crows
dusky Moroccan lamps jading dull sunrises
glistening canal wanderers
redundant milkmaid dolls in antique window shops.
I want a tulip rich affair--
vendors and sewer rats chattering
a bustle of bicycles screeching without care
stumbling across little cobblestone oak parks
customer service girls quipping in quick Dutch.
I want a wheel of smelly cheese to hold up to my brother’s nose
little pest in me unraveling
after lady-like suppression from all these grown-up years
he’ll ruin my braids and push me
onto the yellow leaf sprinkled sticky sidewalk.
He’ll read me Tolkien and I’ll whisper Pushkin
our mother’s scolds echoing up in the back of our mind
but the Amsterdam chill beckons us
so we’ll hover above cafes and crosswords
yearning for whatever treasures we’ve buried there.