Eighteen, and in a Hotel

In flat, restless sleep,
Two beds,
Four girls,
Our dreamless breath,
Swaying the silky down
On the crooks of
Each others' necks.
I bubble to waking.

From the other bed,
Crisp hushed voices,
Unlike the sluggish warmth,
Of the breath behind me.

He's coming.

A male presence,
Hard and driving,
Coming in quest,
Covertly to our
Soft, downy nest.
I hardly believe my ears.

Door open, sword of light,
The tightly coiled warrior
Takes soft hushed-voice
By the hand,
To the sofa bed in the next
Room.
By the hand, I'm told,
He spilled his seed.

But all I hear,
In silent anger,
Dark and brooding,
The rustling of sheets,
Soft wet parting skin,
As tightly coiled springs
Release,
When pressed.

The invasion left,
Assuaged,
Before the blush of
Dawn,
And never did the
Breath on my neck
Waver.
But I, I knew the
Cheap dishonor,
The steamy hardening
Of youthful hearts,
Before time could
Ripen them.

What a waste.

Month later, she cries,
Her body bathed in blood,
From her warrior's careless
Weapon.

i will collect
all the tears i have cried
over you,
and pour them in a bag,
made out of all the skin
on my body
that you touched.

and i will bury it
in the ground like
your father,
but it will never return
to Earth as ash.

it will crystalize
solid, discreet, congealed,
no longer a liquid weight
in my blood,
but a geode
in the forest of my past.

Weaver

braid my thoughts
make the strings
of my consciousness
into something beautiful

Bitterness

They knew they did not love
each other
But they did not anticipate
how bitter the fruit
of an un-ripe heart
would taste
when mixed
with the all-consuming
memory
of honor
lost

Sister Sky

The sky wears a veil
over her face
her hair
covered
in sequined dark satin
when the veil slips
her blue eyes smile
at lover sun
and she inclines
her bejewelled head
to whispers
from sister moon

Glass Wall

i long to touch,
and initiate an intimacy,
with every soul
that i glimpse.
i stand on one side of a glass wall,
hands pressed
against the cold glaze,
seeing your skin,
pulsing,
warm,
with life.
someday we will melt the glass.
it will come swirling, crashing down like a waterfall:
tears, once crystalized,
flowing at once
in a release of warm
pulse;
human joy.

Ring Finger

this ring binds me to liberation
it cycles me back to my origin
a constant flow from heart to hand
pulling me with coursing centripetal force
towards my center
which is a deep passion
a calibrated purpose
a compass that spins perpetually
yet never seems to point
anywhere else
but outward
and inward
at the same time.