Didn’t take long until I saw more than that.
A few chats on AOL;
“You have mail.”
…and an open invitation.

We’re both from the North.
Sailing
Science
Spanish
Wow; I think we’re Soul Mates.
Gee, Sarcasm, too.

You weren’t ever that good in the sack,
But I let you strip me down anyway.
Strip me of my dignity,
When your roommate walked in on you going down on me.

I was seeing other people.
So were you.
I told you the truth;
Even gave you names.
But you preferred hiding better than seeking;

Until I gave it up.
All of it.
Including you.
I wanted to focus on me.

You called,
Once,
In the middle of the night,
And asked to come over to my bed.
I might have even said “yes”
To your “innocent” offer,
But I knew from experience
You’d rather sleep alone.

I told you,
Although the affair was over,
The friendship didn’t have to be so;
I think that you didn’t believe me, though.

Two years:
It took two years
For you to force your eyes meet mine.
They’re the same color;
Yours and mine.
We share the color;
Burnt auburn eyes.

On a beach
In sunny Ecuador
You actually found a way
To get under my sun-kissed skin.
I went to bed angry in our shared tent
Made for two.
We’d rekindled our friendship
Ignited
Where there was never a spark
Came back stateside
Close like siblings
Or partners
Unbound by walls

We even shared a house
And a lab
And somehow developed a trigger
Which we set off
On a beach
In rainy-seasoned Panama

We knew it was wrong
Before
After
Even during
But we laughed
Because the three dollar liquor
Had gone to our heads

The sand was cold
On that midnight beach
Where we finally finished the deed
All things come with time

And somehow, despite it all
Love we still manage to share,
Even now,
Separated by a one-way flight
From Saginaw to Syracuse.

Passion consumed first me,
Then you,
Then me again;
I can’t count the number of times.

But here
And now
In the good, ole
You. ES. of Eh.
We find ways to communicate;
Bilingually,
Bisexually.

We are together,
Mind and spirit.
Like waves upon water;
Platonic partners for life.

We, the revolutionists, counter our culture
By rejecting meat
And renouncing fashion
And voting with our hearts.
Just don’t mention our failure in the last election;
We had a test in Introductory Anthropology that day.

We are members of the co-op
Where we get our local produce and free-range vegetarian-fed eggs.
Until, that is, we pamper ourselves on foreign pesticide-infested pineapple,
Straight from the depths of the rainforest Amazon
Where oil is pumped out of volcanic depths
To feed Mom’s petroleum guzzling 4-wheel drive Escalade.

We buy Fair Trade, organic, shade-grown Espresso
From the family owned business on the corner
We use our refillable, not landfillable, banged and battered coffee mug
And we would never dream of going to Starbucks:
Not the one on Main, on State, or even convenient South U.

We resist the urge to splurge
On material things;
Except for the sales.
At J.Crew and The North Face
When we indulge in Chinese-child made gifts.
Gifts from their needle-torn fingers
Sewn in a capital-torn land
To U.S. on our jobless turf

Shame on us,
Blame on us,
The hipsters of the anti-revolution.
We live in the world made by us;

Be the change you wish to see.

Strike again; click click, no use.
Teasing, tantalizing sinews billow through the interim dark
It will take one more; one last drag
On the side of the little black box
As the ember ignites into vibrant white light
Hot flames shoot from the head of the wooden stick,
Flirt dangerously with the pointed index
Thumb, itself, narrowly escaping the rush,
Feels warmth on its calloused crust

Quick now, light the tip
Of the dry white paper slip
Before the inferno edges your peripheries
Danger, depth, deviance
As the fire thrusts ever near
Move in to kiss, avert your eyes, you’re almost there
Come closer, Dear, my precious one;
Please tease my zenith no more.

Ah-ha, it lights
And now we’re on
Take a puff, a gasp, a drag.
Combustion of earth-grown wares, the cylinder on fire
Filled with dried aromatic herbs, fruity flavor, and addictive chemicals to boot

The French, Aztecs, and Mayans, too
Religious ritual to all.
Of falsehood, fact, or faith
To the demon inside who needs his fix:
The craving is the same

And here it is,
The quiet tame
Inhale, swallow it down
Behind tightly pressed lips
And tar-stained teeth
It nourishes the hollow

Hold it down
As it smolders deep inside
Don’t fight back,
It feeds your empty soul
And nourishes your vacant void
Unoccupied the space now is
Like the depths of your mind:
Slate,
Pigment,
Tint.

No need to worry, slow it down
Now that you’ve had at least three pulls
Let it sit in your hand
And watch the smoke rise up
Gray wisps dance in circles ‘bout your mitts
And torrents trickle past your nostrils
The fumes mingle and kiss
Tippy-toe the steadfast Tango
They slide and sweep and salsa past
Scarlet ashes bent down low,
Which whither to the ground and die
An ancient dance, a lover’s game;
Resolute Russian Roulette

And as you watch, and cultivate your crop
You think of how it feels so right
This sport which you adopt,
No matter that the window is down
In your onward speeding car
Or that the public signs
Prohibit you within
The confines of a smoke-free room
Co-workers shut you out
In the cold, public exposure do you find yourself
Even your family keeps you at bay
When you light up the gloomy sky

Poison
Disease
Cancer
Death
Still you continue on.
Because the mischievous sprite must wet her thirst
The imp hankers his desire
And so you, too, must evict your appetite
For the smoldering blaze,
Strike, Spark, Flame, Simmer, Smoke
Conflagration at its best.

I feel sorry for the ducks that live in the city.
they can’t find any water except:
the beer bottle infested
man-made
pond
at the end
of the street.

they aimlessly wander, picking at:
dropped
French Fries
and
apple cores.

she quacks at those who walk by.
he keeps close to her side.
i envy Them:
at least They have each other.

I was running across a bridge
and eye saw goldfish shimmering thru the murky water beneath me;
made me almost want to stop to think,
‘what am i running from?’

I saw a blue heron the other day,
eye watched as it snatched a goldfish out of that pond;
reminded me what it is that i’m running from

I see the little birds
dance and frolic with delight
on top of the red brick fountain
they’re wetting they’re colorful plumes,
they’re chirping playful songs
because food and friends are plenty.

but I know
that Spring is short
and Summer skies fly fast
therefore Autumn is very near.

it will drown out the birds
and their vivid foliage
in more ways than one

the trees will explode with fiery colors
and Frost will cause food to become scarce.

but if they know
what I know
they just don’t seem to care
and I can’t find a way to blame them.

because courtship days are here
and they’re living in the present
I wish I had no fear
Midlife (Cut-Throat) Crisis
(I, eye, i)

I was running across a bridge
and eye saw goldfish shimmering thru the murky water beneath me;
made me almost want to stop to think,
‘what am i running from?’

I saw a blue heron the other day,
eye watched as it snatched a goldfish out of that pond;
reminded me what it is that i’m running from

Retirement
(They, i)

I feel sorry for the ducks that live in the city.
they can’t find any water except:
the beer bottle infested
man-made
pond
at the end
of the street.

they aimlessly wander, picking at:
dropped
French Fries
and
apple cores.

she quacks at those who walk by.
he keeps close to her side.
i envy Them:
at least They have each other.

He looks like a zombie.
He was walking through the hospital.
In only his dress socks
And without shoes. What a dirty hippy.
He thinks that putting orange peels in his shoes will make them smell better.

The chemist in me thinks that, rather, the two will mix to a nauseating cloud that will then hang over the waiting room like an indecisive hurricane.
That’s all we need is another natural disaster to clean up afterwards.

I don’t want to tell him that tomorrow only the family will be allowed to see the sick one in his new room
On the dying floor. It’s going to break his heart;
They are his family.

I got lost in the cardiac center when I got off at the wrong bus stop.
It was starting to freezing rain.
I lost my keys yesterday and one of my mittens.
My fingers were getting sore from the wind.

There was a box full of yellow masks
At the entrance.
For patients going into organ transplants.
Ironic.

I drew some boats.
On the dry erase board.
Under the night-shift nurses’ names.
The boats are in red marker.
The nurses are in black.
I could only think of 5 different kinds of boats.
But I know He has more than that. Maybe he’ll see them.
The next time He wakes up.

Apparently She was cutting his hair earlier today.
Hera.
I couldn’t tell.
When I saw him.
It was all standy-up-py and fussed.
Like a Mr. Jekyl skeleton.

His scapula got me.
When I hugged him.
It was hiding from me.
Under the pink
And blue.
The stripes of his faded teal gown.
These colors don’t run.

I was trying my hardest to avoid his ribs.
And his spine.
Then my finger tips grazed it.
My stomach turned over.
Twice.
I wanted to say
I love you.
That would have opened the flood gates.
From my eye sockets.
Instead I flashed him a grin.
Pretended this was normal.
Like those times when I would swing by the house.
He was busy tinkering in the shop.
Silly Aphrodite;
Love is not enough.

But this newly uncovered displaced anger?
It’s because of him.
And He knows it.
It’s all because of him. But it’s not his fault.

It’s not anyone’s fault.

Oh.
Except for the user-slash-sex-fiend that He helped.
While flying through the clouds in the helicopter ambulance that day.
Zeus; Thunderstruck.
Before they were careful with things like that.
A dirty needle.
Or was He giving CPR ?
And the fiend threw up in his mouth.
I’ve heard both stories.

He moved to the top
Of the list.
They moved him down.
A floor.
He rejected the transplant.
He didn’t want it.
Not again.
They took him off.
The list.

His body is starting to snowball.
All of his fatty tissues have traveled through his infection infested veins.
From his core to his extremities.
Chubby little fingers.
And toes.
Twitch in rhythm to his exhausted breathing.
And the tubes in his nose are too skinny, I think. But what do I know.

He asked to be taken off the morphine drip.
For a few hours.
He didn’t want to dream.
About death anymore.
He said he liked waking up to her face. She asked him if He was scared.

Yes, he is.

Just Like Athena from Zeus, you could say that She came from his head.
Even though there was nothing virginal about her birth. But they’re the same;
Him and Her.
As if a piece of him flew into her and a piece of her flew into him.
During that instant when the wet placenta chorion first touched his blue-gloved fingers.
As if both their life energies were infectious.
Like a virus.

Maybe this means She’ll finally get to leave. Maybe She’ll get to do what She wants to do.
For the first time in her whole life.
She’s known for 20 years.
1day:
His body would betray him.
He is mortal, after all.

The hepatic virus is what’s killing him.
And because it’s killing him, it’s going to kill her too.
Soon, when it’s over.
It won’t be over for her.
That’s when it will just begin; the cutting.

She’s the goddess of war.
But it’s an internal conflict that She’s fighting.
A struggle with herself.
She needs the blood. But She doesn’t want it.
She watches it slip past her bracelets.
It gives her peace of mind.

Her forearms are war-torn from her battle.
From their battle.
Their battle for His survival.
And it’s about to be over.
When He leaves these cosmos, She’ll be right behind.
Just Like Athena from Zeus.