1.1.21

DREAMS

I’ll slap the bitch that dares pinch me

I’m sleeping with Majia

coyote comforters shifting orange to yellow. they play pillow, blanket, and heaven with our whims. Speaking of whims; who knows where those went. One followed ecstasy in through the window, another seduced immediacy into a threesome with fulfillment. The brave of the bunch woke the spiders from their holes and wove time into irrelevance.

Here, you help me count the seconds till a new calendar crowns it’s sleepy little head through the birth-channel on the shoulder of global anticipation. We cry out an exhale only after holding our breath through the year year tinted in asphyxiation. Hues of ice trucks, bleach, ventilators, and loneliness. Days spent fearing sterile-white hospital rooms constructed of walls who swore they “don’t see color.”

so we make sure our underwear isn’t just yellowed with piss we fling at defiance.

we leave our cum-stains in the places that can’t be washed out. We know these moments are as precious and rare as the alchemy used to turn moans into a second skin. This, this energy we created, the one felt with every slow, satisfied movement – it brews coffee with hazy eyes and knowing smiles. Nothing else is asked of the mouth. Not now, not after it’s known your body the way yours knows mine. Who needs words when two hearts learn a new chamber?

I don’t know why I love like this. I think part of it is the way you love the ocean.

You say it feels like going home. How it holds your body without needing to make reason of it. How you punch the waves knowing you’re no match for the tide.

I envy that.

You struggle to define the product of the foundation there. I scower pieces of rubble in my timeline to fit a mosaic of belonging here . When my tongue licks the back teeth of bi-dialect, when my name can’t fit in tight monolingual jaws, when memories turn childhood homes into moving boxes, when my body kicks my legs from under me; I find home in the checklist of things I hold constant.

Imagination, dream, or hope. Sometimes I like to listen to my lungs inside my body
they sound like outer space, I am meteor shower, a supernova, a sulfur flare – something too bright to be ignored or wished upon.

I dream like this, traveling from universe to universe, holding the tether I anchored the outline of our sleeping bodies on my pointer finger. That way, when the sun calls my at new-day’s time, I know the path back home.

So, thank you for letting me sleep in. Sweet, wide eyed, fire-sure lover.

11.14.20

DREAMS
Running fingertips through planetary extracts – a pipeline connecting this spine of mine from body to Earth. Bedrock on and pulse guiding eyes to starlight. How many more can there be up there?
That’s not the point, or it very well could be. Right now Mars drips into retinas and fills the body light. Pushing down down down to earth, quacking and shaking and spilling onto pleasure as if all there could ever be on in this universe is electricity and conduit.

And conduit I am.

10.17.20

DREAMS
I’m painfully aware that time is no currency, but on this day I’ve won the lottery.
To say something of magnetism. Your barbwire teeth and bristle skin are expert knife throwers. They fling sharp objects at anything that gets too close, stay right there, hands where I can see, I’m warning you not another step, there’s well-sheltered precious in here. You know;

your tender is no frail, and cages work both ways.

I’m milk and honey eyes, warm breezes, tree sap, and morning dew. It takes metal to hold together the supple of me.

In my daydreams, my gentle meets yours. Barbwire and metal erode away and our souls go “oh, there you are, I’ve been looking for you.”

But there are nightmares here too. Because I know the ugly side of magnetism. I hate to think what would come of our geographies if your metal meets mine. We may not be strong enough, to defuse a missile that weary.

DREAMS

10.15.20
From growl to purr.

He said “I want it to burst from my lips.”
It was less burst, and more serene. Entwined its way between the borough of her lips and the nape of my neck, it nuzzled itself in a sleepy cradle of two spoons and a million different carbon molecules.

As if to say, “rest now.” That moment the rescue realizes this home is no foster. The refugee breaking bread with his kin in a new country, a new tire bolted safely, getting to see your grandmothers’ face one more time before she dies, the empty chamber of a retired gun, a child returning home from the hospital with normal oxygen levels, clocking out on your last day of a job you hate, walking in on the first day of a job you love, the first bite after break-fast, a warm shower on cold skin, you are safe here.

Me? I am lightning, thought tornadoes slapped against the walls of my heartbeats skipping from disbelieve-to- panic-to-ecstasy-to-what? Relief?

If you could lay your eyes upon the most fire-hardened, most cruel and unpitying person alive, during sleep and at the moment of waking, you would see in them for a moment the untainted child spirit, the pure innocent. In sleep we are once again brought back to a state of sweetness. In sleep we are remade. We are reassembled from the inside out, fresh and new as innocents.”

Clarissa Pinkola – Women Who Run with Wolves,
Chapter 5. Hunting, When the Heart is a Lonely Hunter
The Sleep of Trust

DREAMS

10.10.20
And all the while, she’s been right there.

Looking down — no. Looking into and around me, sending Manta Ray breadcrumbs as if to wink symmetry in the stitches of coincidence.

10.8.20

DREAMS
Siren,
if you live in your head for too long
you risk becoming your own secrete.
you can trust me here.
the madness in you looks at the insanity in me
digging glittered nails into my cheeks
begging them to never loose their rosy

when you visited, this place was a city.
when you left, it became a town
how dare you
bring color back here
you’ve left me a palate of messy and combinations
paintbrushes dipped in promises of our most secrete
cloudy water with the residue of what we couldn’t rub clean

i guess instead i should say
thank you for cutting all my strings
but i wish when you called me Ether, you’d named me timetraveler
instead
fatigue is our favorite pillow
call it chaos
disguised in anxious desperation and i’m so selfish, so greedy so spoiled
how can i ask for one more day with you, when i’ve already had so many?

DREAMS

9.29.20
France found joy in Tolima
split her kneecaps
watering children

France jumped ship, and no one saw it coming

DREAMS

9.6.20
Foxes are more spider than dog
weaving about fate’s web when she’s out for dinner
it’s that magic that sets us apart from Coyotes
the mischief giggle from Hyena’s cackle
go ahead, let the old Jaguars roar, let them bear their teeth, and show off their claws
i’lll bathe them in confidence,
highlight their spots and whiskers
I’ll comb out their fur, polish their canines

and when i’ve made you feel
bigger than the character based on you
you’ll purr into my chest “friend”
using it like a punctuation mark
we both know, i’m not the one who needs telling
like the last ditch effort to hold on to the laws youve made for yourself
like pictures aren’t dignified without their frame

like you’ve realized the fragility of the mirror
is not a weakness
but a finess

that can, and will
cut you.

DREAMS

8.27.20
stout nights and stargazing
ive failed at many things
including, yet not up to
finishing school, empanada making,
most baking in general,
cross-stitching, knitting, embroidery, any type of art involving visual prowess,
mastering the splits,
perfect posture and figure,
figuring things out,
monogamy,
polyamory,
most types of relationships if we’re being honest,
remembering how to get home
or what home looks like

but success can eliminate as many options as failure
and right now
i am dancing on the hula hips of options.
building callouses on my waistline
that true tough, you know?
not the type that stretches rhino leather over your skin
after all
doing so deflects pain
as well as pleasure

DREAMS

8.24.20
nostalgia and hope
guard the bridge of authentic experience more rightously
than Americans their Southern border
you and i
we are functioning above the summit of our
physical potential
even our complaints
have a voice like biceps