he knows me like no other
....how
i am a tempest
         and he is the captain of a ship
who knows the storm
         yet still, without fail
sails my waters
  
    with his heart,
            equally as strong
in will and passion

i will toss him and beat his hull
        with watery fists
but with a keen eye on an impossible horizon
        he persists

he jokes around but he doesn't sleep with me
he tickles the undersides of my feet but he doesn't talk
he just walks... no rather tip toes round the issue

and his step become more intricate,
weaving a complicated pattern on the stage

he brushes my hand but he doesn't kiss me
he gets close to me ear and lets out ashes
he doesn't talk...

and if he doesn't talk
and he doesn't kiss it makes me wonder--

does he have a tongue?

Is he afraid to speak in English, is he scared to speak in French?

he digs a trench on the surface where he is dancing,
he digs it deep with the dance he does,
growing ever more complicated as if the song has upped tempo

but the music is not that of argument
it's not even of playful banter
no not anymore

because he doesn't have a tongue no breath in his lungs to make passion
his vocal chords gone ashen and I learn slowly...

his footsteps

Things Occupying My Thoughts:

1. job hunting

2. tattoo apprenticeship 

3. Hula 

4. Tahitian

5. Florida

6. love

I miss moments that never happened in my life. Other people's love stories; their fulfilled dreams, jars full of fireflies on window sills on summer nights. Grandpa's war stories, how he met my grandmother at Luna Park in 1922. Things like that... I hold dear other people's love stories, their fulfilled dreams, their piano songs. A sister's pact that held strong throughout the centuries, the ruffle of dresses in French courts, the smell of lavender fields. Things like that... I treasure other people's love stories, their garter belt lust, their rabbits and rain boots. Boys whose hands I'll never touch, girls with whom I'll never share fairy tale secrets in whispers under Christmas lights. It all just bubbles up somewhere. It all just washes in and the rest is indigo.