Narrative: You kissing me on my bike
You met me on the corner of your block while I was riding home.
I saw a figure raise his arms and I heard him say something.
I shouted your name and you shouted back, it was you.
You came to me as I slowed my bike
you straddled my front wheel with your legs and kissed me deeply
with both hands on my face and in my hair—such a romantic kiss
with so much feeling
a kiss I could feel reach deep inside me
and smear ointment on my wounds and hush the screaming,
crying thing inside me.
I said, “Were you waiting for me?”
You said, “Sort of.”
You had just parked. You figured you had beaten me, but you thought, “I’ll give her two minutes, and then I’ll go inside.”
The Elusive Scent
I’ve been trying to figure out the smell of you since the first time you got close to me. It was on my friend’s roof a few weekends before Halloween. You leaned towards me and laid your head on my back.
Sometimes I can smell you in the wind ahead of me.
Sometimes I can smell you on my hands when I come home in the morning.
Last night, my friend came over and he smelled like you.
Excitedly, I asked him what he was wearing—Crave, by Calvin Klein.
Introduced in 2002.
Fragrance notes of bergamot, cardamom, musk and nutmeg.
Recommended use: daytime.
Meta-Poetics
I want to write about you, but I don’t know what to say.
I’m writing this but I wonder if it would be a better use of my time to find a way to truly re-experience every moment, as it originally happened
Maybe through a drug or some nirvanic state, I don’t know
One time when we were drunk, you touched my waist and you asked me if I had ever been in love.
I briefly had this thought: "What if my prose actually comes true? And one day we'll find ourselves alone in your bedroom, intertwined, kissing and whispering."
Then, I answered your question.
Sex
Sometimes, I look at your face and I can see myself undressing in your brain.
I can see you thinking about me lying on your bed.
The time you held my neck between your hands.
Like flowers
heading a bouquet
I bloomed
Stems sweetly dripping, you sighed into my petals
I remember looking over my shoulder at you, the bare skin on my back red
like a matador’s cape.
In your eyes, the gaze of a bull.
I felt my heart in my chest, twisting and beating.
My eyes softened as I gazed at the ceiling, wide awake.
Your touch was a Valium I
ingested into my body through some sort of osmosis
set into motion by the touch of your skin against mine, giving me the impression that life had been sedated into a slow, romantic dream.
The way you lightly touched my skin with the very tips of your fingers brought back memories of everyone who ever told me I was beautiful.
I’ve tried to memorize the feeling of your lips on mine
it feels like two clean fingertips pressing softly together.
I like you so much that
I want to die with you in my heart.
My feelings for you will become preserved in my heart like a mosquito in a ball of amber.
I want to lay you down on my bed and open up your shirt, crack your sternum, access your heart, curl up among the blood and tissue and feel safe
in that contained space
to feel what I feel,
I want to think about you and how much I like you.
Your smile and your chin.
Your eyes like cool cold metal.
Your shoulders.
I like your shoulders, too. And your arms. And your wrists. And your hands, and your fingertips. And your forehead. And your nose. And your ears. And your lips. And your lips. And your lips.
You met me on the corner of your block while I was riding home.
I saw a figure raise his arms and I heard him say something.
I shouted your name and you shouted back, it was you.
You came to me as I slowed my bike
you straddled my front wheel with your legs and kissed me deeply
with both hands on my face and in my hair—such a romantic kiss
with so much feeling
a kiss I could feel reach deep inside me
and smear ointment on my wounds and hush the screaming,
crying thing inside me.
I said, “Were you waiting for me?”
You said, “Sort of.”
You had just parked. You figured you had beaten me, but you thought, “I’ll give her two minutes, and then I’ll go inside.”
The Elusive Scent
I’ve been trying to figure out the smell of you since the first time you got close to me. It was on my friend’s roof a few weekends before Halloween. You leaned towards me and laid your head on my back.
Sometimes I can smell you in the wind ahead of me.
Sometimes I can smell you on my hands when I come home in the morning.
Last night, my friend came over and he smelled like you.
Excitedly, I asked him what he was wearing—Crave, by Calvin Klein.
Introduced in 2002.
Fragrance notes of bergamot, cardamom, musk and nutmeg.
Recommended use: daytime.
Meta-Poetics
I want to write about you, but I don’t know what to say.
I’m writing this but I wonder if it would be a better use of my time to find a way to truly re-experience every moment, as it originally happened
Maybe through a drug or some nirvanic state, I don’t know
One time when we were drunk, you touched my waist and you asked me if I had ever been in love.
I briefly had this thought: "What if my prose actually comes true? And one day we'll find ourselves alone in your bedroom, intertwined, kissing and whispering."
Then, I answered your question.
Sex
Sometimes, I look at your face and I can see myself undressing in your brain.
I can see you thinking about me lying on your bed.
The time you held my neck between your hands.
Like flowers
heading a bouquet
I bloomed
Stems sweetly dripping, you sighed into my petals
I remember looking over my shoulder at you, the bare skin on my back red
like a matador’s cape.
In your eyes, the gaze of a bull.
I felt my heart in my chest, twisting and beating.
My eyes softened as I gazed at the ceiling, wide awake.
Your touch was a Valium I
ingested into my body through some sort of osmosis
set into motion by the touch of your skin against mine, giving me the impression that life had been sedated into a slow, romantic dream.
The way you lightly touched my skin with the very tips of your fingers brought back memories of everyone who ever told me I was beautiful.
I’ve tried to memorize the feeling of your lips on mine
it feels like two clean fingertips pressing softly together.
I like you so much that
I want to die with you in my heart.
My feelings for you will become preserved in my heart like a mosquito in a ball of amber.
I want to lay you down on my bed and open up your shirt, crack your sternum, access your heart, curl up among the blood and tissue and feel safe
in that contained space
to feel what I feel,
I want to think about you and how much I like you.
Your smile and your chin.
Your eyes like cool cold metal.
Your shoulders.
I like your shoulders, too. And your arms. And your wrists. And your hands, and your fingertips. And your forehead. And your nose. And your ears. And your lips. And your lips. And your lips.
