The Water You Last Drank From

The water you last drank from
remains
by my bed.
I will leave it there
as I let go of you
over this next season of my life.
It will evaporate,
turn to air,
and travel very far from here
over the next million years.
And that was
always going to happen to us
as well.
Though it was quite miraculous
how the infinite configurations
placed us together in this
infinite ocean,
soul to soul,
body to body,
soft skin lain on soft skin
in morning sunshine,
vaporous breathing to the
heavens
where once upon a time
you had reached for
that water you last drank from
for the final time
in the aftermath of something,
something riveting, tumultuous,
healing, and laid bare for
the other to see.

I see now and look over at
what will be gone soon,
what will be gone as Autumn
and the hearth fires start up
again.

Pressed

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

The Smell Of Pleasure

Because of the female
hormones
I take
my male-born genitalia
smell like
female genitalia.
Now I’m talking about
that pure kind of smell,
that carnal,
appetizing and enticing
kind of smell,
that woman flower,
the kind that makes you
want to lick, eat, savor,
breathlessly lost in the joy
of producing
soul-electrifying pleasure
for your girlfriend
on a morning when you
both have off work or
maybe on a morning
when you’re waiting
to go on vacation
without the kids
and you find yourselves
devouring the womanly
landscapes of each other.
That smell.
That earthen cream smell.

Just in case you were wondering.
Just in case you get any ideas.
Just in case you think
for a moment I might actually
be a woman.
Just in case you’re suddenly
turned on
and want to give me pleasure.
Just in case you’ve ever
desired women before.

I am here.

Ice Cream In Angel Land

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.

Asleep And Alive

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.

It Is

It is to be said
It needs to be said

Women can love each other
It is “ok”
It is forthright
a way of the Universe
A force and an expression
A form of magic
Very wonderful, applicable,
practical and beautiful magic

Sleeping beneath a tree
I have seen us
as women in love with each other
Grappling, entwined and carnal
The tree has seen us this way
Continues to see us
And wants to see us

Two women loving each other
In branches enveloping
In giving shade and shelter
In standing by for the
ways and days of solitude
and growth

Two women loving each other

Angel Land Municipal Airport

At Angel Land Municipal Airport
the lovers come and go.
Some die.
Some die in our hearts.
The sexually immature ones
leave
and take the train and
their train wrecks
back to their competitive
partriachal pursuits.
Boring sex continues chasing
its tail through the sky.
Where is your angel again?
No, where has she gone?
Sex is a marketplace of desire.
Got it.

The white women cash in
on their privilege.
Oh mommy and daddy.
Wrong, they never cash in.
They protect their interests.
They struggle with generosity
at these crossroads,
rather runways, of mortality.
They struggle, so they leave
Angel Land
in the middle of the night,
a red eye flight,
before those who know them
and those who see them
can actually see them.
This airport is tricky,
wedged between earth and heaven.

Now, where is your angel again?

Inquiries About My Genitals

On the day
we signed the contract
on a house that we’re hoping
to live in for the next 20 years
and raise her girls together,
she started by asking if
I was still open to, still considering
getting a vagina.

She said it was confusing to hear
me recently say that
I’m starting to be secure with
being a woman and having a penis
,
my belief
that I can be a woman and
still have a penis.
She nodded in agreement,
then furled her brow, but…
but there was something else.
True, yes, she said.
But it is incongruent to see me
as a woman, for me to be a woman now
,
which she assured me
she experiences me as,
and then for me to have a penis.
Those are not two things that
normally go together
… her words.
She continued, having something
inside her she needed to share.
She bumbled awkwardly with her
words at first.
Something she was uncomfortable
or a little embarrassed to share.
So I softly cajoled her to get it out.
Finally, she shared:
There’s no other way to put it
that doesn’t sound crass,
I want vagina.
I want to experience pussy
.
She breathed heavy and dreamily,
sighing.
So yeah, maybe that’s yours
when or if you have one.
I’d like to experience that.
Or, or, or.
Maybe, maybe
it’s another woman
.
She stopped, paused,
trying to find her words.
I mean, we’ve talked about
non-monogamy, but never ended
up there.
Yeah, maybe that’s something I’d
like to experience
.

I confirmed with her I understood.
That I really like pussy.
That no, in fact, I love pussy.
That it’s wonderful.
I get it.

Then I stood there thinking in my
mind;
why did she bring this up at the
end of the day on a day when we
made a big commitment to
each other,
why then?
I don’t know.
Was it because of
our big commitment now
she was more comfortable
being honest with me?
And maybe she wouldn’t
understand this,
but my mind wondered
back to a couple days ago,
and I was thinking about how
these two douchebag guys
in a bar
invited me over to their table
to flirt with me and then
cut to the chase
and asked me about my genitals
and my plans for getting
a vagina.

I guess these inquiries
about my genitals are happening
now
because I’m finally
starting to look like a woman
and maybe me having a penis
doesn’t add up to folks.

Yeah, it’s good to know;
I’m finally a woman.
I’ve finally arrived.
Welcome to the world, girl.

Anything A Man Could Do For A Woman

After he was done
he stood over me
growling and said
I was a good slut.
I was mostly naked
with my panties yanked
down around my ankles
and my negligée half off.
I felt barren and exposed
and wanted to cry.
I knew this wasn’t what
I wanted.
I felt a foreign and shameful
inauthenticity growing inside me.
It hit me full force in the stillness
after he left.
I’ve got to now,
He said moments after finishing
and lefty briskly without
exchanging any niceties.
Then
I cried and sobbed in the emptiness
of a Chicago apartment
built for a four or five person family.
The ice and snow outside
melted, merged, and ashened
from all the cars going by.
I believed I needed
a man’s masculinity
to affirm my femininity.
That is not true.
The most noble masculinity
I’ve ever experienced
originated from within
the curves of a woman.
And I find that more affirming
of my femininity and all femininity
than any man or
anything a man could do
for a woman.

I consider masculinity to be
the efficient ability to compartmentalize or
contain emotions,
while femininity
is the ability to swim
within an ocean of emotions.
I swim with women now.

Wasn’t Supposed To Be

She is a sapphic.
Wasn’t supposed to be
according to
her family’s expectations,
the cultural conventions where
she grew up,
or her own guilted inhibition.
But these days
when her children are away
or sleeping
she lays on her bed on
sunny mornings,
easy weekend afternoons,
or sleepy evenings
and makes love to herself
and cums really hard
watching lesbian porn,
thinking about women,
and clutching the soft and strong
loins of her body.
Things were not supposed
to turn out this way.
But they have.
It’s just how things are now.