Mondays

There may be a day some time in the future when I no longer care about you.   The familiar feeling of your embrace would be like a memory of a good book I’ve read, or a movie I’ve seen.  Like a memory of my hand in David’s in the Azalea Garden, in June of 2007.  So what if I remember the month and year, I am good with calendars, that’s all.  It might have been May, too.  When do the azaleas bloom?  It was a Tuesday.

About you, I’ll remember there were Mondays. Continue reading “Mondays”

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Permission

Here, I give you permission

to take space,

to speak…

…slowly,

to breathe…

…as you connect in silence,

to feel…

…whatever,

to receive,

to be awkward,

to be wrong,

to be glorious.

Until you accept the permission, I give you orders.

A Path of Destruction

I am hungry for closeness, emotional and physical.  I am hungry, but it’s OK.  This is a lean time, a time to fast.  I subsist on the breadcrumbs I pick here and there.

And here you show up with what appears like food.  It smells nice.  It looks nice.  It’s so close, I can feel the warmth and can’t resist taking a bite: it’s tasty.

But I know it’s poison.  And you know that, too.  How can you not?