Sunday, October 23, 2011

I will make it difficult for you, I know

I will make it difficult for you, I know
I'll make you suffer with my teasing eyes
my impervious smile and that baiting glance
seeking the core of you in you.

I will worsen it still, with
all the questions i'll ask
and my ill-timed jabbering
won't long let the moment last

I'll snatch away those moments too
when you're all secured in ecstasy
I will come to you with mundanity
even as you're most in love with me

At your peak of pleasure I will
ask you of things routine
spoiling all for you I am sure!
I will make it difficult for you, I know

Exasperated! You will beg me to be,
to be there with you in reality
I will hover around evasively
till I melt in to you hungrily

- circa August 2011

that tribe thing

It aches. Dammit. I ache. To speak to him who's my tribe. Oh! how I ache. The time is right and the moment too. Where are you! Why not by my side?


Quiero hacer contigo lo que la primavera hace con los cerezos

Every Day You Play - Pablo Neruda

Every day you play with the light of the universe.
Subtle visitor, you arrive in the flower and the water. You are more than this white head that I hold tightly as a cluster of fruit, every day, between my hands.
You are like nobody since I love you.
Let me spread you out among yellow garlands. Who writes your name in letters of smoke among the stars of the south? Oh let me remember you as you were before you existed.
Suddenly the wind howls and bangs at my shut window.
The sky is a net crammed with shadowy fish. Here all the winds let go sooner or later, all of them. The rain takes off her clothes.
The birds go by, fleeing.
The wind. The wind. I can contend only against the power of men. The storm whirls dark leaves and turns loose all the boats that were moored last night to the sky.
You are here. Oh, you do not run away.
You will answer me to the last cry. Cling to me as though you were frightened. Even so, at one time a strange shadow ran through your eyes.
Now, now too, little one, you bring me honeysuckle,
and even your breasts smell of it. While the sad wind goes slaughtering butterflies I love you, and my happiness bites the plum of your mouth.
How you must have suffered getting accustomed to me,
my savage, solitary soul, my name that sends them all running. So many times we have seen the morning star burn, kissing our eyes, and over our heads the gray light unwind in turning fans.
My words rained over you, stroking you.
A long time I have loved the sunned mother-of-pearl of your body. I go so far as to think that you own the universe. I will bring you happy flowers from the mountains, bluebells, dark hazels, and rustic baskets of kisses. I want to do with you what spring does with the cherry trees.