Lions Breath (rhyme)

Our casual encounters always leave me tangled up indeed.

Innocent but daunting.

Keeping things so ordinary, so plain, so neat.

Safety is the last thing I seek from you, but you  know your safe with me.

I might break you apart in tasting you, but that’s the cost of a gratifying feast.

I’ll guard you and protect  you; but don’t think that doesn’t mean,

I don’t long to pull the cover off over your eyes, and explore the sheets beneath.

Like a relentless restless lion.. Watching as she’s wanting;  The object that she  sees.

Though sharing has never satisfied the appetite of this beast.

This  tool of patience has calmed me, certain of this “diverted attention” I seek.

I watch with tired eyes, Knowing  the cost of furtherance might mean to cheat

I see being ready (for her) doesn’t  assure (her) availability;

and being able  (for her) doesn’t  make her mine to keep.

But in this mind I feed on her,

Tender meat between my teeth.

While in these thoughts unclothing her temptations running deep

These images are very alive;

a rather dangerous place to be,

I welcome only the brave inside, those not afraid to take a peek.

If these thoughts of her, you could feel, you’d see she rests warmly and exposed for me

Maybe pawed with admiration, but wounded little by these feet

But never alone or cold; she has all that she needs

As I provide for her-her wanting’s,

So, knowing satisfied she sleeps

When she wakes, she knows me..

The beauty and her beast

Guarding her with this growl

This lions breath full of heat.

I’m struggling to sit here and think about our conversation last night, I feel the campfire still burning embers around my encircled heart, and nothing to relieve me or rescue me from the heat, not even for a moment.

I want to crawl beneath this love sick desire, to hide under the sheets of  ”I am still my own.”

The thought is tormenting me:

Of not being my own. Not being ”invictus indomitus” (The wild unconquerable (one) ...

It is as though [through my eyes] the jaws of ”lovers jealousy’s” are snapping wide to grasp me again.

I’m pulling you in close for a whisper

I am shaking you awake!

I’m telling you a secret too deep

and to keep this alive

Can we draw a truce to this fight over lover affairs before it begins?

Can we find similar channels to talk and swim together?

Last night’s fire was edging on a lovesick lovers fiery

And I terror at the thought of not surviving the heat

too much of any good thing is not good

Sweet kisses to my sweet noble lover, be gentle and I will not run,

but I fear the collar that you’ve fashioned

was meant for the house pet,

I am not.

The bridle is not for the mustang.

I Love as I desire. And rest as I desire. This is what makes me beautiful… and once captured… I become tame [Tame: lacking spirit, zest. interest, or the capacity to excite] and lose the very ‘being’ that first drew you to me.

I know myself. And I am showing you the headstones of ALL my fool hearted lovers.

Fools! Silly Fools!

They thought my freedom was only a token

And my need for self definition, only a lark

That is when they pulled off the butterflies wings and expected the thrill of a flutter.

They saddled the stallion, then raged as they sat upon the beast.

I am ”Invictus Indomitus”

And I feed from the hand, not from the trough.

To capture me is to kill me.

To PRETEND you have captured my essence, is to corral me into finite space and suffer me deep with shallow definition.

So offer your hand— even in fear— so that I can fill it with every good thing, my love, Every good thing which you’ve NEVER KNOWN

You cannot grasp what is not of flesh, and

I find myself in the same position

So I offer my hand, trembling, to be filled with every loving possibility from your soul.

 Let me spill to you, now, how I see you!

I am a broken spigot of words today, and I wish to fill you with all that I have-

So that in the future, you can rest with these words:

You are fastly becoming my centerpiece at my own cornucopia table [of Love]

and I laugh as I see you turn round and round

sword drawn, slashing through the air.

a show of strength, more for me than for you

at the rivals which are not, but to you- must never be[come].

Loving your little jealousy’s is my fault

Having your little jealousy’s is yours

This is not bad, nor boasting evil— just frightened and too small

for a noble person such as yourself

Let’s make an agreement together, lets join hands and walk the same way- No warrants, no suspicious accusations posing as concern…

[Warrant: A guarantee: a written assurance that some product or service will be provided or will meet certain specifications] Just love, childlike and guileless.

We get afraid, for sure but we have the others hands! Fear is not bad! Fear is fear— So let us run it down together!

With bold speech and lavishing tongues

speaking love against the dark, the cold in each of us,

lighting the fire of hope and fierce bravado— to brighten and warm our hearts as one.

It is by its nature- self made illusion.

We all become frightened by our perspectives! We’re NOT bad! It is our eyes , [perspectives] which are ONLY deceitful.

When I awake to my illusion

hy waste any more moments in the guilty pleasure of self-punishment?

We are only small handicapped children-

blindly groping for our mother- Love.

to be pitied, and embraced

We should not slap the hand for reaching!

What am I afraid of?

I’m scared that I am still too weak to fight off the tethers of a strong lovesick lover—

too soon appraising my wildness

As if my beauty could be enhanced by its own (domesticated) demise.

Death by the hand of many blinded  [frightened] lovesick lovers

Fools they were

and I with them.

But hear me out when I say

I have never made a confession so raw with such intent

to any lover until now

but I never desired so much to save them

from their own jealous Achilles heel

as I desire for you now

…I’m pressing my hand down over your heart

And I can feel you reach for the bridle.

This is not a ride you want to take with me

but [you] don’t know it…

not yet and (HOPEFULLY) not ever

so I plead only for your attention, when I ask of you

“No”

[and]

”It’s okay, I won’t wonder.”

Startled awake, i turn over.

The clock *glowing* green read:

I’d fallen asleep with the phone next to me, ::sigh::

I smile. Resigned.

This is life: (beautiful) in its own spiteful way, falling asleep next to a quiet phone.

With one arm wrapped around a pillow.

Realized you were probably in your bed by now.

Gave you a hug in my head instead, and a faintly resigned smile.

And rolled back over to find your body in feathers.

my hands groping for your voice instead,

Longing to hear any number of syllable secrets spill through the pregnant dark about your heart

Imagining those alive velvet lips brushing close to mine as we exchange liquid energies

Hoping i drew a smile from your heart, last night.

You’re a powerhouse of passion,

And i’ve brought my sunglasses.

I await for your company to bask in warm rest

And to feel the fire again

Will you break through darkness this morning, dear sun?

Kneeling naked before you….and I wonder have I lost my fucking mind.

Giving you every little part you begged of me.

In hesitation I couldn’t.

But I did.

Refused to explore, not you.. or her….Myself. This way.

Accused most of the time

Everything in she, that made her me.

Wishing to forget the taste you left on my lips.

But, damn…I wore you well.

Smearing as I wipe the linger(ance) of your taste from my mouth with my sleeve.

Many  seconds before falling in love with you again.

Restless and Roaming

Running and ……

Even in your storm, I seek no shelter from you. Terms and conditions, there’s nowhere to hide.

Your eyes, your glare, piercing.

My precious fox. She hunts. 

On top of the world, I watch while riding her.  

Keeping you so alive, you’ve trained me well.

Pleading for this love. No secrets to keep, silence in far existence.

With each moan as deep as the coyotes cry, I give her every little part she begged of me.

Keeping inside the need of heart and home, that I have of you. 

Something that contradicts the both of us      

My Memories like vinyl albums, the greatest hits of my life

Preserving those I dont need, tucked away; so carefully preserved

I wreck the ones I play; that mean the most,

Like an Infectious energy- reminding us of our highest highs and lowest lows

Its in the records skip, the silence between  the songs that holds us

She lives there, inside of me

Caged and unconcerned

Patched with promises

Scratched. Worn.

My thoughts- actions given to me by my mind

My Feelings- actions given to me by my body

I demand of you, please make me feel your memory

This time, I wont forget what you felt like

Visiting this place so many times,

Numb to the craving images of you

Those that haven’t been born into thought yet

Holding my arms, SleeveLess stretched out before you

So you can see the razors scars, dulling of faded blades

Begging you to tattoo what tomorrow will look like on my skin

Now and today

Show me the way I am alive inside of you

What will you make me remember?

What will make me remember you?

This place in future play; somewhere in “the later”

Sharing time

And being here

Just  “yours”  for just a little longer

Seeing her so clearly in the eyes of your mind that you felt you could reach out and touch her at any given moment.

Leaning back against the wall…..inhaling the trapped aroma of cedar, sweet patchouli and sandalwood, Allowing the  incense sticks to perform acupuncture to senses,

Awakening all of you, all at once.

How easily she made me remember what I it was I spent so long trying to forget

Like the efforts I put into sealing myself off entirely. Filling all the broken pieces and the cracks.

With one stare, I could feel mortar crack,

Like bare and exposed brick, letting light beam through every broken piece.

This time I was willing to be split, spread apart and ready for full exposure.

Boundless by the trickery of self-satisfaction,

 Unable to no longer stay naive to what may weaken my personal growth,

I was in fact untamed, and wild….. but you saddled that hostile territory

Secretly packaging up the collectiveness I left for your soul. Untainted, unbruised

Watching you as you hold your breath to kiss me,

Afraid some way I would slither my way down your throat and into your heart

Exhaling myself into you

Gracefully we part, the last time.

Knowing I lost her somewhere where between the home- grown windowsill herbs and the recent pressed coffee beans still left in the French Press.

But to hold me and to touch me is to take us to two very different places.

To touch me is easy and requires I do little … but to hold me, now that’s something.

To stop this furious whirlwind, to make her vulnerable and calm; nothing needn’t be said..

Its spoke in silence all over that mental dance; when you close your eyes, you feel our bodies romanticizing like children all over one another’s soul.

I give pieces of myself, rather than the whole of my being; most often to the beggar to whom I can feel both sympathy and superior. Like spare change to the homeless man on the street. Close enough to provide temporary charity, but distant enough to ensure Iv’e not really changed their life, or my own.

Im not selfish, but obsessively careful. Careful to remain detached, not from those less fortunate, but to those who I know deserve my whole. I hold on to the needy, rather than embrace the worthy.

I am careful (despite how others view me), and I have moments of recklessness, which have blown up in my face. Yet the small indiscretions have had the biggest impacts on my life. They seem so insignificant when compared to the reckless acts committed by others, yet so profound were their consequences, My center, my core and my confidence is shaken, and probably always will be. So I retreat into an even more careful existence, in a completely vain and misguided desire to remain safe. The only problem with this plan is that I’ve failed to realize is that I am  punishing myself  when I actually should feel that depthness of  true love. So severely.

My desire to feel safe results in my return into the familiar, rather than real security. How do I know this? Ask yourself; have you ever felt lonelier than you do in a room with a person who professes their eternal love for you.  It feels alone, though your being told you will never be alone…….You want the pain and punishment afterward. The screaming, crying, shame or anything else that will come when the sun rises.  I am not use to comfort, or security but what I am use to is its alternative.

It’s not the escape that everyone believes is my goal; it’s my desire to feel SOMETHING afterward. It’s the devil that ive embraced for so long. Behave badly, Intoxicate yourself, hate yourself in the morning…… and then you can feel alive, feeling horrible but alive… 

 I give those familiar to me,  little pieces, just enough to have them exist, but not enough that they ever know me…. I don’t treat them poorly, but I do make certain that they carry enough contempt for me that I can ultimately replace them with little concern. Hell, they likely have no idea why they stay around, but I am a “safe friend” to them. It kind of provides me with the order I seek in my world.  It doesn’t matter to me who they see in me, just that they do.

 I, like you, seek security, stability and whatever happiness can be found. To think I thought I understood yin and yang …..I believed it to mean “balance.” I could tell story after story to illustrate how wrong that “solution” was, but for the sake of simplicity, I’ll use an obvious example. To achieve the security that balance seems to offer, the idea of love is useful. If you love your own child with everything you have, wouldn’t balance dictate that you also hate that child just as strongly? Perhaps hating your own child is unrealistic, but then wouldn’t you have to hate another just to achieve balance? Maybe I would need to hate 100 people a little bit in order to equal the amount of love I have for one person?

Basically, the prospect of trying to hate as strongly as you love is ridiculous. The same can be said of all others endeavors. Would I choose to fail as often as I succeed? Why do I feel that someone can’t love me properly without hating part of me? Maybe that’s the  reason no one ever got more than little pieces of me. So, now to give all of me to the one I truly love, still wears the same fear.. that you hate me, parts of me……its my struggle… with balance. 

You can never achieve complete success in anything, without giving yourself completely to that goal. Is the thought of success at that cost so terrifying? Is the idea that I give myself to someone completely scarier than being alone even with another body in my bed? Is the path to happiness so clear, my partner on this path so obvious, and my  desire for that journey so powerful, that I shrink my  universe in order to avoid answering those questions? Do I convince myself that I am not worthy?  In spite of knowing that my life must have greater meaning? I bury myself in the misery of others, in order to avoid risking my own?

Two souls inhabiting one body. The power of two minds having the same thought. I love you hard, deep and strong. I love you so much I am scared to be me….I am afraid my soul and shadow will ruin your image of me. Afraid if you could really see me, see through me, you may not then really be in love with me at all.

She wasn’t home to me,

Not that place of safety and security

Or of warmth and nurture

She was complete chaos

Undomesticated 

Confusion and disorder

But I still wanted to be unpredictable with her

Be her “never enough”

Her “not right now”

Her ”not just us”

To be in the unknown with her,

 Was still more satisfying;

 Then being everything definable

To someone else

you can’t be THAT!

I’m sure this has been said by so many, in so many ways.

It’s not that I want to be this, but I don’t NOT want to be this either. I know fate is a fraud in matters of self-realization. Sure, there are elements outside of a person’s control. But they have less to do with what you are and more to do with what you allow yourself to be.

Those with narrow minds,  want so badly to ensure I remain exactly what they think I am. More than that, what they really want is to ensure I become what they believe I should be. Most want me to be their distraction, a brief and infrequent vacation from their own self-imposed prison.

My being and identity is fluid, but for better or worse, I come in a particular package. Along with that package comes a set of instructions. They’re more like rules of engagement, written by the visitor. The package looks a certain way, speaks a certain way, walks and talks a certain way, and has value ONLY when the product matches the package. The reason for such a superficial view of the “Monster”? Security, familiarity, safety. Not in their presence, but in knowing that lust and desire is transient in your world. Disposable, just throgh the Monster out. Deny that which brought you to their doorstep to begin with. You purchase the Monster with lust and desire, not emotion, most often you already have the emotion from elsewhere.

Like moving into your first apartment, where you envision great eclectic furnishings, freedom to live by your choice, have great parties, fuck in your very own bedroom and basically live the romantic, artistic lifestyle that seems so enticing. Contrast that with your first house. Garden, picket fence, dog, kids, and ’til death do you part”. Still romantic, but mostly safe and secure. Roots, future, something to build upon. A life most ordinary, but familiar and acceptable. Now tell me, to which place do you invite the “Monster”?

I can tell you. The Monster can find their way through any apartment in the dark and barely make a sound. I’ve done it a hundred times!  In your house, shit will get broken. Noise will be made. Everyone will know the Monster was there. And you? Lust and desire will be replaced by shame and regret. People will judge. You will fabricate, equivocate, obfuscate and ultimately deny not only the temporary presence of the Monster, but that your compulsion to have the Monster, however transient, ever existed. In the standard dodge, one can pull from the long litany of explanations.

The Monster tricked me.

The Monster raped me.

The Monster wants me and won’t leave me alone, but I’ve done nothing.

I was drunk, high, angry, lonely, horny

I ONLY kissed the Monster and I didn’t even like it.

I felt sorry for the Monster.

I fucked the Monster but all I could think of was YOU.

You don’t pay attention to me, so I used the Monster to get back at you.

I’m (insert sexual orientation here), and I was curious about the Monster.

I love YOU! I could NEVER love the Monster.

Regardless of the outcome, certain facts will ALWAYS re-emerge. You want the Monster near and available. You are jealous when others have the Monster (and are critical of those who do). You describe the Monster as “important or special” in your life, but you have no intention of committing to the Monster. You feel a sense of loss when the Monster appears disinterested in you, in much the same way you treat the Monster most of the time.

You get “that” feeling every time you see the Monster. You think about the Monster more often than you do the person you declare to “love” I hear it all the time.

Finally, this is the ultimate truth: The Monster knows these things, and so do you. The only difference is that the Monster can admit these things and love herself and others without making them disposable. So, really, who is the Monster afterall?

I couldn’t help but notice her standing there

In the aisle between Science and Psychology

A mysterious, beautiful object of a thousand borrowed pieces

The lines of unread romance stories, settled in her face

Just close enough to feel the distance between her and my fingertips

Filled with electricity and uncontrollable current

It was under Poetry our paths crossed

Blushing, you must have felt me beginning to read you

Publicly, but those words you’ve written in private

You smiled with your eyes

Changing the neurochemistry

Making me high

Practice me with passion

The way you study the pages with your fingertips

Sexually inside you (figuratively)

Tangled and coupled

Somewhere between Romance and Psychology

In the aisle between Science and Psychology

A mysterious, beautiful object of a thousand borrowed pieces

The lines of unread romance stories, settled in her face

Just close enough to feel the distance between her and my fingertips

Filled with electricity and uncontrollable current

It was under Poetry our paths crossed

Blushing, you must have felt me beginning to read you

Publicly, but those words you’ve written in private

You smiled with your eyes

Changing the neurochemistry

Making me high

Practice me with passion

The way you study the pages with your fingertips

Sexually inside you (figuratively)

Tangled and coupled

Somewhere between Romance and Psychology