Au vacances avec mon ami meilleure,
je peux rester.
Nous sommes heureueses aujourd'hui,
(et hier, et demain).
Dans un autre pays,
nous apprennons des lecons
tres important
pour tous notres vies.

To my 'This One'

I apologize,
good sir,
for not being affectionate
in ways others look for such emotion.

I have always been private-
sharing a lot with only a few-
and have always been unsure,
confused as to the rules of affection
and displays of it.

(You may notice,
however,
that whenever I can
I hand to you
that tea you so adore)

I long to keep this precious thing betwixt us
precious,
and ours,
because I don't know the rules-
or think I don't, anyway-
and I'm so bad at communicating
when I can't craft for you
sentences and phrases that spin
off the page and meander through minds
as I say two things at once.

I never learned affection
in gestures and touches.
I learned to do things,
to say them however poorly the words come out.

Words I am writing for you,
saying to you,
will always be yours.
I will have a mug for you
without your even asking.
(Talk about it enough
and it might sometimes be coffee)

Even if the poetic style shifts,
you will know when the words are yours.

In his arms,
after a night among friends,
as we lean back against the couch cushions
and think how our game could have been won,
there is no suffocation,
only the feeling of peace.

I'm suffocating myself.
Bit by bit,
I cut away at ties.
I am isolated.
Alone,
Maybe there
I can save me from myself,
Take the hands off my throat.
Yes,
all alone
i can save me.

Clawing my way through
yet another low,
waiting,
wanting,
the response I need
it's not forthcoming
and now I'm getting lost
in my own head
and I need him,
or anyone,
but the void I'm shouting into
is silent.

A gathering of glass,
the weather-brought coating
that looks akin to water in the sea
as it rolls over the wind-worn plains of snow,
this ice
is glorious and shines in moonlight,
a cliched piece of beauty,
I would not be rid of this sight.

it closed,
and the set is torn down,
and i feel nothing.
It was another circus,
another show,
there will be more.
I will miss,
in time,
this particular rendition,
but not so much as to lose
any further sleep over it.