Once more,
One further attempt
to get every thing right
in the production of the musical.

Perhaps the muse,
the energy,
will return when I sleep.

It's production week,
and I feel buried
in empty tea wrappers
and cue sheets
but dear lord in heaven
this is worth it.

Opening night approacheth,
and I feel like over-dramatizing
basically everything.
Maybe Janet doesn't want to show off,
but I want to proclaim the brilliance of the show
(and my own acclaim sitting in the booth)
to everyone I meet.
Later,
when staring down 6 cues in one minute,
I will feel the panic.
Now,
there is only excitement.

Nature's perfect predator,
one we call Sassafrass,
Is flailing about on the floor
for his tail has offended
and now he must invoke feline justice,
Imprisoning the guilty with his paws.

He sits there,
    cat on his lap
    who he is thoroughly petting,
with his laptop open
that I assume he is actually using to be productive.
Meanwhile I stare at him,
sneaking glances mostly,
trying to write this without spooking him.

I think him beautiful,
and I know you're not supposed to say that about men,
especially not a man who wears a beard
and gives off the refined lumberjack vibe,
but whatever.
He's got eyes like the sea,
a smile so wide it could crack open one of mine,
hands I forget myself in watching.

When turns those unfathomable depths on me,
when that heart so wonderful it has to be fueled by the divine
shines through and illuminates those simple irises,
I am lost.

Little bits of my heart
flake off and fly to him
as leaves fall from trees to gather on the surface of the lake
and slowly slip beneath the water.

Something incorporeal and precious,
as fragile as a glass heart,
formed last night between smiles
and hugs and kisses pressed
to grinning mouths.
A little affection,
a budding romance,
sprung from attraction
as the day passed over
into Valentine's Day.

Listen and Watch

hushed whispers-
and tip-toed laughs-
a giggle buried in the crook of an arm-
one breathy sigh-
murmurs providing temptation
(a gentle poke in the ribs)
to steal the focus and words
(the hiss demanding silence)
away from a flickering screen
(defiant chuckles)
robbing speech from lips with lips-
a toss of head and hair-
sputtering as strands invade-
all this until limbs wrap around
(rebellious and playful struggling)
pinioning wings for one moment
(one single nip about the ear)
until all-out war on ticklish sides commences-
and the film plays on forgotten.

J'ai trouve la musique
qui chante a mon ame.
(j'ai perdu les accents
et maitenant,
ca ne m'inquite pas)
J'ai trouve la musique
pour ma vie.

Je suis presque perdue
dans les yeux d'un homme,
presque perdue
dans ses bras et son rire.

Il deviendra le mien,
un jour.
Le mien.

Icarus II

He runs his fingers through my hair,
And I am lost.
It's a gentle feeling,
A soft assurance of affection,
And I am gone.

I would stay curled in his arms
For as long as he asked.

Once,
I flew too close to the sun,
Though not so far
That I am irreparably damaged.
Though my wings are singed,
I might still fly.

Why should I though?
There is a harmless dive
Into pure sea blue
Waiting for me
If I simply turn my face towards his.

I'll dance to shake the boredom;
I'll dance to lose the ennui;
I'll dance to chase down motivation;
I will not dance to win your heart.

I once was afraid,
so afraid,
that a slip of vocabulary
or turn of the hip
would lose me a friend,
lose me affection I had imagined.

Now I will laugh,
and throw who I am in his face,
for I have no more use
for affection I have to earn.

I tiptoed around someone once,
tried to make him like me.
I showed my pretty and perfect angles,
enough of the flaws to be human,
and never let slip
that I felt a gnawing darkness.