Don’t give me that line.
Don’t.
Then you might push me up against
the wall.
Or, I might push you up against
the wall.
We twist and turn, exchange places.
Two kittens playing.
Bites on the neck.
Gentle, trustful, suspenseful,
pull of the hair.
Lips and fingers to the nipples,
teasing brushes.
Two artists brushing each other
with passion and lust.
Isn’t it best when artists
burn with passion and lust?
Walk through the warm light
of your side parlor room,
love that lamp light loving
your riveting figure,
bring the gold mirror,
bring me your beautiful nose,
tilt those hips.
Give me that line again, babe.
Give it to me.
Inhale. Breathe. I like when you pause.
Then I feel that wet silk on my
ancient concubine hands.
And we twist, and we twist.
Tag: gay
In a hotel room in Albuquerque
I wake up
in the middle of the night
to various things you said
speaking in my mind,
like a radio tuning in…
Initially there is static,
my mind is groggy,
the words are unclear,
but soon the more into
consciousness I awake
I can clearly hear:
“Women don’t have penises.”
“Women don’t dance like that.”
“Women don’t have those kind
of thoughts.”
“A woman wouldn’t wear that.”
“I don’t think women do things
like that.”
Then I get up.
Go into the stale bathroom of
my hotel room.
Grab my pink metal tweezers
and continue my tenacious ritual
of plucking out the remnants of
my beard hair, one by one,
as I stand there for an hour
underneath the nauseating
fluorescent lighting,
plucking probably 800 hairs
and plotting out my plan to
move to Berlin to become a
Sapphic lesbian, woman-only,
sensual and tender,
feminist healer prostitute.
I love you Mother Earth.
I’m going through
my first lesbian breakup.
And I am standing on
you right now
looking up at a billion stars.
And I know I’m an Earthling.
Resolutely tender and mortal.
Vulnerable to the Universe’s
dispositions.
I will love you
always.
On the last morning
we were together
I made chilaquiles.
It was good, maybe
the best chilaquiles I had
ever made.
Afterwards we made love
in the middle of her living room,
giant windows all around,
the beaming sunshine
on our breasts,
her flower melting upon me,
two ancient lovers
lost in our ancient eyes together.
Gasps and moans from our souls
from another lifetime,
melting into one another,
we brought one era to a close
and brought a new one
into being.
That glorious lady
came calling to us.
And we knew she would.
Tits to tits,
fingertips to nipple,
then
mouth, teeth, lips to nipple.
After we’d spent 3 weeks
hurting and hating each other,
that powerful, almost full moon,
on her way out,
she called us together, she beckoned.
Two women.
That’s how we do.
Cleaned our heads.
Cleared our hearts.
Set us to the tone of oak tree shadows.
Around her home,
the backyard.
Her strong, soft, determined,
yet gentle lips
found my smooth-skin shoulder.
Her sultry face, suave mouth,
maybe the only that can.
Then yes, I said yes to her,
yes to us,
for a moment suspended
between gold light
in navy night and those waffty clouds,
and the moon called us like
animals.
Good lord,
what will we do with each other?
Our animalism seems certain.
For that glorious lady
showed us.
Two women.
You know, the moon comes ‘round
over and over.
After the industrial music
at the gay dance club
the industrial dyke
took me
back to her loft.
The chains on her leather jacket
rattled with the city sounds
and the bells waiting in my mind
as we walked to her place and she
held my hand firmly.
She put hard music on
once we were inside.
Again, it was hard.
Her place was just off the Drag,
within siren song of the state Capitol.
She told me to
stand up against the brick wall,
facing towards the brick wall.
Then she told me to trust her
and her earthen perfume
kissed the soft skin of
my neck.
That was trust personified,
angelic being for a simple mortal,
a fissure in time.
She then ripped
my dress off
and instructed me to
“pop my ass up in the air”.
My perky tits and ass
found a purpose…
a purpose no woman, man,
or gender queer
had before ever given them.
She proceeded to do
things to me for hours
that I can’t really write about.
I felt ripe after, like a juiced fruit,
all my fluids everywhere,
spilled and drained.
It smelled like a festival of
pubescence;
springtime flowers,
scents of minerals and virginal
young women
spilled on the concrete floor…
and, and, and
her scent of leather.
All my karma and souls
now reset,
with the angels again in the
sunshine this morning.
These are new things here.
New things for the future.
A proper future,
a future
where the women of America
f@$k the absolute hell
out of each other in freedom
and security.
Where the women of America
have a chance at actually living.
Yes. USA! USA!
We’re coming.
The only thing I could do
to have her feel safe with me
was to have her be the “top”
often times.
Otherwise
the world, the feelings and
emotions
seemed all too much for her
in moments.
So I handed her the edges,
brought her to them,
took her near and above the abyss.
I’m honored to have been
that person for her,
that vulnerable and
delightfully feminine
woman.
I know she needed that.
She needs my ass, my laugh
and my moans.
We’re connected always.
I was there with her,
rushing into heaven
as she broke
a lot of her models
of oppression and shame.
She’s gone from me.
I’m gone from her.
But I’m glad she knows liberation
now
and that special Angel Land place
only two women can go.
Maybe we had an even
more special version of it?
A libertine & a perfectionist
caught
on the tumultuous earth.
Who’s to say?
Press me up against the wall
fair lady
femme dyke
I’m your power bottom
forming my wrists over
testosterone bones
industrial wasteland
I’m here now
watching the flowers blossom
Smell a sweet scent
across the field
Wait for that succulent nectar
I sculpt words for your hands
to hold
my cupped, bloomed ass
in that way that just does it
gets it done
revolutionizes my soul and breath
and brings the twilight
down upon our breasts
chest to chest
tongue to tongue
against the wall
When I was pressed I blossomed
When life began demanding
manhood of me
there was nothing left
Vanished and vacant
You rescued me and gave me soil
In Angel Land,
sometimes we eat
ice cream in the morning.
And sometimes that is
after we’ve had
blissful, woman to woman
morning sex,
with soft skin and gaspy moans
melted into each other.
And sometimes
we eat ice cream
when we haven’t had
that blissful morning sex
but we wanted it,
so we take a deep, still moment
to savor the rich and sweet
cream instead.
Either way,
the ice cream in Angel Land,
on a sunny, rainy, or cloudy morning
is always
quite a delightful experience.
When you
are asleep
I go and
look at
pretty girls
behind a
bar counter
and watch as they
slice the air
with the curves of
their bodies.
And when I am
softly buzzed
I go home,
roll up a joint
and smoke it,
then drive out to that
country road
that heads northeast
out of town
and blast
Pink Floyd’s
“Great Gig In The Sky”
while I think about
my dead cat
and remember how
he was there
to watch me
transition into
a woman
the last year
he was alive.
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