Your hands
want to hold her.
Rid her
of grief.
I need to be held.
I’m an infant, only.
A woman, lonely.
But your hands.
They’ve
split from
your heart.
Left you gripping.
I wish to be held
by no hold
at all.
Please let me fall.
Straight through her grief
into the heartbeat
of familiar hands.
. _ . _ . _ .
(photo credit :: Jane Utochkina)
Can you hear me?
My quiet hymn.
How I long
to sing you
her silence.
But desire, distorts.
Dread of imperceptibility, contorts.
My souls song
sped up.
Forced words
fill a space
intended
stay empty.
Let go, I must.
Let go, I trust.
To hear her is enough.
To have you hear her too?
Proves we exist
in stillness,
together.
Inaudible to most
but not each other.
. _ . _ . _ .
(photo credit :: Glen Carrie)
You look at me
and see
a woman.
Why can’t I see her?
What courage
your eyes ask.
To soften
the space
between my lungs,
between my legs.
A body bracing
against pain.
Or is it pleasure?
Or are they the same?
What courage
your eyes ask.
To open to her,
meet myself
& greet you.
Your turn for bravery.
Won’t you let us,
love you?
Unheard
ache
sounds
furious.
Flinging daggers.
Once cast, come back.
Murder, suicide
is no way to live.
It’s living without her.
She doesn’t say
“rid yourself of fury.”
She says
“I’ll hold you”
while fury passes.
Daggers drop
as the unlistenable
is listened to.
Heard
ache
sounds
sweet.
How sweet the sound.
. _ . _ . _ .
(photo credit :: Anastasiia Malai)
My desire
to touch
and be touched
finally
outweighs
my need to
self-fulfill, self-detest.
I’m here
to love your body,
from mine.
To embrace you
with the warmth
inside of me.
I am warm
inside.
I am warm
inside.
At long last
I’ve remembered,
I am warm inside.
. _ . _ . _ .
(photo credit :: Dmirty Fisenko)
She won’t let me rest.
Not until she reaches you.
Until her words
pour out
my lips
my breasts
my heart
my hips.
They’re not my words.
They’re hers.
She’s relentless.
Insatiable.
Insurmountable.
She’s breaking me apart
to get to you.
She wants us to be together.
I do too.
Am I her?
. _ . _ . _ .
(photo credit :: Rostyslav Savchyn)
I held my breath.
Halted feeling.
Stopped moving.
All for you.
I’m older now.
No longer
so small
or so in need of love.
I know what my inhale does.
My exhale too.
My feelings destroy worlds.
My movement creates them.
I promise I won’t hurt you.
I promise to destroy with precision and create with care.
No one shall bleed.
Trust me.
Feel me.
Move with me.
I’m older now.
No longer
so small
but admittedly,
still so in need of love.
. _ . _ . _ .
(photo credit :: Anna Meshkov)
Draw up the Earth, Kate.
Let her cool your heart.
Too much love without the container of your body
will destroy you.
The heat alone
will kill you.
Your burning heart
is seismic grief.
Seismic love, lost.
The only way to live with a heart-on-fire
is to let go
into another.
The Earth, Kate.
“Me, Kate.”
“Draw me up.”
Burning hole to burning whole.
. _ . _ . _ .
(photo credit :: Casey Horner)
I wanted to be your fantasy.
To turn you on.
Make you long for me.
But fantasies aren’t real, you see.
And I am very real,
you see.
So I let you penetrate what’s here.
Pierce holes in my fanatical facade.
And I discover your real longing
is for my depth.
A depth you don’t yet know exists in you.
A depth I don’t fully know exists in me.
Until I let you come inside.
Come closer.
Come into me.
You see?
Ah, yes, you sea.
. _ . _ . _ .
(photo credit :: Linda Xu)