Friday, September 06, 2002

A Chihuahua and a three-legged

A Chihuahua and a three-legged black cat. 

I imagine alone.

A Camel light smolders in a faint stream of smoke.
A thin worn cotton T-shirt and a stomach knot.
The sweet taste of silken moisture a thought on my lips.

As I walk down main street,
any street,
soft ankles, pale
move before me
and I follow behind.

Sweat beads your upper lip
and moistens your hair.
Curves to mind bend
walk on broken steps
of asphalt cracks.
Each breath a blade of grass
encircles marbled oaks.

She looks good to me
She looks good
to me.  She looks
good to me

The small round bumps reminded me of a rash, or maybe a less serious thing like razor burn.  I questioned why it was so important that we leave the bar to discuss the matter in the parking lot.  The pole lights overhead reflected on the various metals and chromes.  She looked at me with shadowed eyes so I noticed that uber-sentimental gleam, and asked if I would ever consider…then trailed off.  She took out a pack of Marlboro menthol lights and extracted the third from the right in the back row.  She offered me one, and even though I despise that particular type of cigarette, I thought this seemed an appropriate time to fill a few moments with a lil nicotine and tar.  She removed the third cigarette from the back row and handed it to me.

A soft glance from blue gleam eyes
looks away, and comes back.

Keep coming back.

A quiet smile grows at the corners,
the deliberate gaze
confident and patient.

I imagine the soft touch of breasts against my chest
and notice nipples through shirt.
your shaven feel ,
or if manicured, design.
The sight of pointed thigh angles
and light belly hair.

We sat next on the hood of my 87 jeep Cherokee and smoked.  It was silent for a while, but I felt the vague wandering of an elbow testing my willingness to share a touch.  I knew it would only cause trouble if I would foster her interest, and while I knew she would be a project that would probably leave me exhausted and disinterested, I leaned just slightly, dropping an elbow towards her.  She had this beautiful red hair that billowed out over a white scarf she had tied around her head.  Loose ringlets spilled down the sides of her head and rested softly about her shoulders, chest, and back.  I took a measured moment as soon as she had attracted my attention, to see if her eyebrows were indeed red as well.  There’s something particularly interesting about a girl with red or blonde hair whose carpet matches the curtains.  As I was pondering this very fact, I inhaled deeply on my Marlboro in an exaggerated effort strictly for her benefit.  I let the smoke trail slowly out my nostrils and tried to give the impression of being a very stoic individual deep in thought about something quite serious and/or intriguing.  I knew my features, as did hers, held the shadows well and gave these moments a dramatic effect.

So you said heaven
is apple blossoms
a spring breeze
or carrots with hummous
and thin grey T-shirts.

The dawn that rises over mountain
and the blue of ether,
no softer than her voice.

Your chin shows confidence
breasts breed desire
and you know it.

She looks good to me
She looks good
To me.  She looks
good to me

She reached down and snuffed out her butt on my front bumper, sat up and looked me. As she spoke, she turned her head and said that the red bumps were nothing more than dry skin, and that being a red head with such fair skin living in Colorado with it’s dry air, she had to be diligent about moisturizing.  She had been in hurry shaving this morning and didn’t have enough time to properly moisturize.  She then turned toward me and I put out my cigarette.  She stared deep into my eyes and I into hers.  I couldn’t help but notice the perfect line of her nose and her lips that had subtle boundaries and seemed only a few shades different than her skin.  My chest tightened and my mouth went dry as she began leaning closer in the night.  I had numerous thoughts and none at all, and then I noticed the sparkle in her eyes wasn’t the moon, it was the parking lot lights.

Would you, behind glass eyes
make the trip to soft sheets
not of satin, but my simple cotton,
and if I hold you, will I not tire of your touch,
will I not follow those ankles anymore?

-- my cuz Dut at the buddhist poetry school wrote this and sent it along.  I think it rocks.  It’s good to have people in your family who produce ideas and images and feelings like this…