Pleasing affirmation

Pearl Jam - Better Man (acoustic)

Does she
When she
arrives home
Pause
To think of him
As the earnings come
Falling Golden hoops
Cascading pairs
Diminutive song
On n the dressers wood
Mirrors check clear
To insure
That the fleeting glimpse
Of the shadow
Is gone
At least for now
As she
Waits
In the pause
Thinks
Of the time
Of the touch
Searing savage
Like none else
Though there has been
So many touches since
Does she
When she
Slight pause
Reflect down
He was so young
But so was she
His touch progressing
Absorbing
Causing
Towards
Heat that summed so
Great a rising
From the surface
Of forbidden skin
Desperate
For the friction
Of her
Loves
Pleasing affirmation
Back when
Back then
In the day
In the rising cold
Does she miss
The welcoming warmth
The shelter
The acceptance
Of the one
Forced into exile
For committing
The most banal of all
In the modern day
The sin
Of speaking
Of being
Truth
Unabashed
The patter of feet
Dissolves away
The memory
That she
Would be
Frozen
For only a moment
That
Only returns
With each passing

Essential Truth - Winter Warmer (Old English Ale)

Mark Knopfler - Romeo and Juliet

Shall I embellish?
Or dress
The piercing Passion?
The crushing collapse?

Or shall I remember her words
Raw and eloquent
and simply say

I loved her
And sometimes

Sometimes

She

Loved me

Secret Cord

Leonard Cohen - Halleujah

Rising from autumns cold
He pushed toward
So did she
as he began to play
the secret cord
Forbidden
With movements
Hidden
Beneath her mutli-colored tapestry
Gentle movement
Soft slow
Rising
The gentle tease
Of flesh
Surrendering to flesh
Touches melting
Melding
In her
Burning surrender
Of passion fierce
Tracing touches
Playing with fire
Her head reclined
Lips frozen
In a silent cry
Of pleasure devastating
As
His fingers began
The gentle trace
Burning
Across her lips
Burning
Longing
Supple pout
To draw his touch
He longed to maintain
The balance
Between the savor
And deadly desires release
The sharp intake
Before one dives
Into passions flame
Feel the burn
Surrounding
Consuming
Knowing
To die
Is to live
When one begins to play
he secret cord

The power of a glance

Looper - Mondo '77

Though denigrated
And underestimated
Never doubt the power
Of a glance
Created by chance
She stood
When
I entered the bar
Despite the dark
She radiated
Fire from
Her eyes
Invited
Drew
The fire that radiated from my soul
That without being told
Knew that I wanted to know more
About the safe danger found
In her glowing warmth
Where life erupted
When
She heard my greeting
And
Her smile
Unabashed
Began the soft seduction
I wanted to know
More
But she
Beat me
Into the pressing close
Questions as her body
Moved
Pressing close
The soft firm
Press of lace
Danced across my arm
Eyes began to devour the other
As the wait
For the next sound to pass
Lips so full
Building desire
Maybe
She pressed into
Me
Or it could have been my move
Into her
So slight
So right
Simpatico
All borne
From the power of a glance
Created by chance

She is a panther

Keesha vs. Queen: Radio Tik Tok

She is a panther

It's as simple as that

Simmering fire smolder
In her eyes

Burning desire in the dark 

Only inflames desires heat

Dancing fingers
Static friction
Dancing
Between

Waiting
Wanting

Building

The
Longing
To pounce
To devour

Fine legs formed
Muscular tension tight

While the waist
Is pulled in
The pressing form
Melting
Into mine

She smiles
At the prey
Before her
Til the attack begins
Burning heat
From inflamed lips
Hungry
Pressing the memory
As her fingers
Trace across your soul
Putting to shame
Every love poem ever written
All the while
The fire in her eyes
Burned out of control

As the panther

Continues to circle 

We see beauty when we long to see it

The Chemical Brothers-Where do I begin?

A couple of days ago I found myself traveling to the land of memory.  It's not a comfortable ride.  That place where the past and present collide with a decimating force.  I don't like to go there.  Usually the closest I will go is a Half-Price books.  But I had to attend a film festival at the Angelika Theater.  It's over by the "M" streets.  It's like there is a shadow over my heart.  The kind that makes the doctors order another x-ray, but it appears the same in the later plates.  They tell me to watch it.  They don't really have an explanation.  That's okay.  I feel sorry for them.  But I guess I feel so sorry for realtors who have to show properties near there.  It seems as if it would be too easy for them to confuse a Morningside with a Matalee, or a Montel with a Mockingbird.  But I digress...

The film I was to see was called "The Last Laugh".  It was about how Judaism the survivors of the Holocost dealt with its harsh reality.  The answer was to laugh.  One has a choice you know, they can either laugh, cry, or go mad.  Or even perhaps to do all three.  Comedians like Mel Brooks, Sarah Silverman, Harry Shearer, Carl and Rob Reiner, and even the guy who directed "Borat" spoke of the challenge of dealing with the horror by telling a joke.  Not only does this remove the power that drove the people down, but it can also act as a defiant fist.  One survivor told of how, after being examined by Dr. Josef Mengele to see if she would live or die, he told her that she should have her tonsils checked out as they might be a problem later on.  Gallows humor, but that is merely a step we take in the darkness to keep moving forward.  But I digress...

Nothing about the entry made it easy.  The parking lot was full save one space almost hidden in the distance.  Simple enough task, I know, but it was a car that was the exact same model as the one she used to have.  Back in the land of memory.  In the present, it was a hollow reflection I suppose.  It was yellow.  Her's wasn't.  It was a convertible.  Her's wasn't.  But what memories came flooding back.  Well, I could tell you of the madcap times where we laughed each to each as we traveled.  I could tell you how my hand, which would always be at her knee, would find itself softly sliding up her thigh during the long drives.  I could tell you of stolen moments precious where the world collapsed to only her, I, and her extravagantly beautiful smile and warming laugh.  I could easily write about any of those things.

But I won't.

Perhaps the glory, the true beauty of us all, is when we are most human.  Perhaps love is at its fiercest, when it is at its most simple.  While touches of passion may burn fierce, perhaps even more poignant is the arm stuck out involuntary to protect someone from a sudden stop.  The silly, like using a book to try to translate a simple message into another language.  That no matter how hard you try to make it correct, I am sure to a native speaker it would sound something like... "I love you.  Have nice sunshine day."  Or merely the simple might life in saying the name of the other.  Soft, hard, cool, regardless, it makes little difference.  When one's name is in the mouth of the other-it is comfortable, it is safe.  Almost as if the other, in it's formation, has already caressed it with their soul.

What memories came flooding back?  When I saw it was a convertible, I immediately thought of how in a moment of the exaggerated exuberance of youth  I was doing something boneheaded (not like me at all :P),  I climbed up through the open sunroof, don't know why, and like  years before Kate Winslett's lean in "The Titanic" had even hit the box office I too leaned forward.  This caused me to break a new wind deflector that her father had put on the car.  I felt like an idiot, and I probably was, but she laughed and forgave me.  That was the first memory that hit my mind.  Sure we once played a practical joke on her dad when I lit a smoke bomb under the hood while she told him that something went wrong with her car... but that memory didn't come back till later.

I took a few steps forward to Mockingbird.  The traffic was heavy, but to my left I saw three Italian Flags flying.  It was Campisi's.  Here the memories become fragmented.  I would apologize, but time has passed and in between here an there I had a car accident and spent time in a coma.  What do I remember of our Campisi's night?  We had ordered pizza.  Don't ask me what it was.  Talk flew furious about the mafia connections and some kind of mysterious green room in the back where the Mafioso  did hidden business.  We laughed,  Jokes flew about the the mini jukeboxes that were on each table.  But her eyes,  Her life.  The warmth that exuded from her.  How it warmed me in comparison to the colder night air outside.  How it warmed.  The electricity that burned fierce  A charged static filled the air when we were together.  Like dynamos it would build until contact would finally be made.  The explosion of passion would be devastating in its consequences.  In our destruction, we would live eternally.  Moments like that also took place.  The after.  The pulse under all.  But those weren't the first to enter my mind.  Now that I think of it, was the outward just a reflection of the inward.  But I digress....

I wanted to drive by her house.  I had to fight myself not to.  What would it have gained?  What would have been accomplished?  She made it clear.  She made it simple.  We kill what we love... so says Oscar Wilde.  Either that or it kills us.  I guess it would have been okay, if it hadn't been the soulless and heartless words of a simple text.  I deleted it.  At times it is the fiction that helps us go to the next day.  In pursuit of some crest to the mountain we are climbing.  It is preferable to the truth.  Like Roberto Benigni in" Life is Beautiful", we play like the whole prison experience is just a game.  All to keep the light alive for another.  But even this film was hotly debated in The Last Laugh.  We see beauty when we long to see it.  Otherwise, perhaps, life would be too crushing.

Funniest joke of all is that she doesn't even live around here.  Or so she says.  Makes you wonder... who really did have the last laugh.  But at least the documentary was good.

On a patio

The Future Sound of London: Papua New Guinea

On a patio
Where all the tables faced southeast
On the shifting creak of weathered wood
She sat while
Whispers of Fitzgerald
Slid across the night air
She was
Beauty cut
Chiseled fierce
Intense eyes longed
For the connection
A release
For the clutter traffic
trying to shout down
the perpetual
boiling desire
Within
Loning for escape
A break
From the unending
Second act
Knowing full well
The dip of her neckline
Soft slide
In the rise
Of the moon so full
So ripe
Waiting
Wanting
Longing
For the next
That would follow
A quick kiss stolen
Where he could pull her
Toward
The soft caress
Pressing
Hot, strong
And
In the song
The burning flame
simmered