Brooklyn, 8.12.16

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There is a rare moment where the world is good, where life is good, where everything around you is both beautiful and available. Where you know the temperature dial reads 97 degrees, even as the sun goes down, but you don’t mind the stifle or the sweat on your skin. Where your friends are waiting for you at the park around the corner; you will greet them with a bag full of watermelon, red grapes, and carrots for picnic snacking. Where your lover is only a bike ride away, and wouldn’t mind the spontaneous call or text one bit because it’s new and exciting and you both quietly like each other so much that it becomes palpable, even in your smiling silence. Where the sky is a Renaissance painting, a revolutionary first play with light and color, unrestricted by canvas and gilded frame and unobstructed by fluorescent lights and museum head-nodders. It is the perfect night, and nothing has even happened yet.

(2016)

C.H.D.

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I am cautiously curious,
a flighty bird hopping
on its spindly legs,
circling a crumb,
pecking the morsel and
flicking it about the cobblestones
with its lacquered beak,
as delicate and pearlescent as a fingernail.

I chisel bite-size bits
off the small mound,
crunching them around
until I feel it safe to
tilt my head to the sky
and let the sustenance slide
down and into a warm, churning darkness.

(photo cred to C.H.D.)
(2016)

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Let me speak first
Before your voice has me
Changing all my answers:

I can love when I’m alone.
It’s with your gaze that all things change.
I lose sight of what I like inside
Myself when I meet your eyes.

Because they are deep,
And I pour my waters in
And sprinkle my petals to steep.
And I drink.

Drink my fill,
Careful not to spill a drop
And I don’t stop the glug until
I’m sluggish, glutinous with love.

But it isn’t my love,
My alone and lonely love,
It is yours.
And it’s thrown open
All of my windows and doors
But has taken the mirrors from my walls;
I’ll only get to reflect once you are gone.

(2015)