It will always be walking through tough cement, lemon rinds and jack-one swift sailor high on a Black Sea
drifting for eternity, fighting off starvation, making friends with an idea.
Love is not sold on silent blue moons or Ancient Greek mistresses riding them bareback
but deep inside a reflection, an abbreviated determination that divides calm nights.
I watch you pray for those hours. God isn’t listening;
He is creating.
out there
rain lives
and breathes
and falls asleep
the way I want to
instead
I stay
eat cactus
fry worms on black top
undress for men
I don’t want
touch
every
square
inch
like its you
a blue bird twines
of wire
where sunflowers grow
your air is twisted
like she
unthawed
in your
affection
an aroma far
from lonely
i find dizziness
underneath
liquor
we are empty
never simultaneously
the glass is warped
i’ve stood here forever
waiting
for the
freeze to pass
Helios in
a winter solstice
unconquered
I am fire and light
come to me
this does not belong
in a book
or on paper
it should be
blazing across
each existential universe
your immaculate
humility stumbles
my gesture
bathe me in
every movement
that has made
you a man
every echo
is wild
pulsating
carnal
I am
you feel like an ocean
in my arms a tidal wave
I have been surfing on
summer since you
found me black shadowed
after trekking winter’s
long desert
waiting for you to
hyphenate me with
your time and your precious
cargo down below a
vacant heart at the time
but now is a roaring lion
ready to claim
this undiscovered body
prepared for your arrival.
Uncharted territory! Galilean moons
orbit, satisfied by discovery.
Jupiter waits for your sounds,
do you hear her calling?
She dreams of your sleep,
cracked by early morning light,
pink lips opening wide,
new trees cherried by blossom
Seasons have changed.
Her great red storm hovers
like a tailed boa.
You could lay on her naked thoughts
or wear her like a shadow.
She waits, an elliptical path away,
for your sun to rise steady
on her moon.
Wake up!
Do you hear her call for you?
My eyes settle blue on boulders,
on the desert.
She doesn’t know I am here.
She doesn’t know how I watch her,
or how I crawl with
tortoise in patient crawl or
how I soar with her carnivorous
vulture.
She is like woman,
like God
and sperm
and sea
all at once.
Her magic is dry and alive.
What is
to hate is to love.
She acts like death
but her surface is in force.
Her dry stomach spreads thin.
Her hot mounds curve Earth.
Her treasured liquid leaks from
her spike covered fruit.
She is dangerous.
She does not fear exhausted corpse’.
She swallows inside out,
spits it out and keeps it
for company
and when buzzards come
and when flies come
and when  suns change course
she will suck dry
hard bones
deep within her sand
burying them
in her desert forever.
It is always the moon whispering
with foul breath to me,
while stars drip like bad oil
paint, chips in a perfect, black sky.
The sun doesn’t say anything. It just sits
in its place, waiting for the day
it can finally rest.
I let the sun go, on its own,
but I try to join the night.
I try to wrap my body, like silk, around
time that sleeps,
that nods with my conversation
and smiles
in agreement.
We speak a language together, of
the deep ocean’s waves of regret
that cry into the dry sand of nostalgia,
creating mud of desire,
longing for its peaceful aquatic home
below the drama of tides;
of every shadow that
slices through jealous silence,
lonely crickets,
hollow frogs,
desperate bats free of their caves;
I will never be involved with a burning star –
I am part of the night.
I am a dead reflection of light
watching the world sleep.
I’m going to be in love tonight
under this hidden moon
in this welcome season
just tonight
as this house creaks like
seventy year old bones,
as murders grow in awful hands,
as no one sets foot on
this same carpet.
I’m going to kiss warm lips tonight
of a living man
who breathes cold opinion
and holds me in his eyes,
who clears distance from hollow
rooms,
who says nothing,
who lays unknowingly, tonight, beside me
with no one around to overhear us.
I am going to make love tonight
to a suspect of betrayal,
to my heart’s gravity,
to a memory that has been
soaking in the fall.
Listen. It is perfectly safe.
Look around.
No one is near. It has been years
since I fell asleep with
my skin underneath him, falling,
falling in to some
confession, and tonight
I will not hear a sliver of his voice
and he will not know
that tonight’s moon will
cover up his absence,
for me.
The music, with sharp tongues and daggers, presses hard against me.
I have been swinging from lyrical ropes
for days. If it wasn’t for guilt!
If it wasn’t for the time I have spent
drinking cups full of guilt, with guilt, for guilt.
Guilt raises dark hands that curve into
the shoulders of undeserving men and women.
My stomach tosses me over myself
for the thirtieth time today!
I can remember all of the first times that
I laid myself down with fire, judging
the length of my hair,
or the color of my skin,
or the shape of my body.
Do you believe me?
Do you believe that I spend time
tying myself up against poisonous walls,
waiting for a soft heart to come walking in,
6 feet tall,
with a blade meant only to save me?
Do you believe that?
No matter!
It is true.
I expected you and you and you!
But, not today.
Today, I fold myself over in two.
Half of me has my hands and my voice.
The other half is walking away with my feet and
my womanhood.
I do not know which half to venture off with,
so I sit here,
on this blue couch that is not, and never will be
something that I can call mine.
I sit, without myself, here.
I have branched out, and, in the same moment,
left myself behind.
Do you believe me?
Do you believe that a girl as leathery as me
could leave without herself, or
let herself go, for that matter?
Do you believe that?
It doesn’t matter.
Not now. Not when I sit on guilt’s lap, flirting
with her for approval. Not when
I tie myself down to her, to her and this soft, blue
couch.
What matters now, is the bacon and eggs that I will make her
for breakfast. What matters now,
is the laundry in the little room,
the showers that need to be scrubbed,
and the fact that
I am still tied up here, to these poisonous walls.
maggiemaeijustsaythis 