November
My calendar says it’s almost November—
how is that possible?
My sheets are still warm from your limbs,
back in August and July.
Santa Monica is a drive away,
but must be windy nowadays.
You walk along the shore;
you look taller in October.
Steadfastly,
steadfastly—
is it you leaving,
or is it my heart pounding?
And the waves whisper—
same old story,
different lines.
Travel
Sometimes I feel a kind of lightness
when I think that I breathe in the same air
that you breathe out.
Sometimes I get worried
when you are far
and your breath has to
travel through
water, forests
lands and air to
reach me.
What if
it got lost
on the way here.
Maybe and Maybe
Maybe we will get ice cream
Maybe we will fall in love
Maybe we will fuck it up
Maybe we will do all the things above
When I say maybe,
I mean, “Yes, love,
please, please, please,
please, love.”
When you say maybe,
you mean, “Slow down, honey.
Soon enough,
we will try it all out.
So why don’t you
put your hands
on my hips
and kiss me now.”
Soap
You put soap on me
washing my back
like a real daddy.
I put soap on you
only to go through
every hair of your
body.