really, she just wanted to scream at him, "you can't say those things!" how did he not know that it was the nice words, the kind words, the loving words that hurt most of all? she knew, she couldn't let herself believe any of it. couldn't let it sink in and root, for fear that it might grow and spread like a virulent fungus.

in her mind she ran through all the possibilities. maybe he meant it as a joke. maybe he was drunk. maybe he thought you were someone else. maybe that knock on the head you gave him last week finally settled in to extreme brain damage and he has no idea what he's saying. that's it. it's a sort of sort of word-salad that coincidentally came out as, "i love you". it could have been any other words or complete nonsense. "garbage dimple wait" might have just as easily come out of his mouth.

so it's aphasia. now she could breathe.

but, what if, she though, what if he hadn't been joking or drunk or mistaken or linguistically damaged? what if he had meant it? did he mean it as a friend? it didn't sound like the "love ya's" that get thrown about at the end of day with the girls. and certainly guys don't shout out "love's" after a round of football and beer? do they? she did remember that night, when they were all a little too high and buzzed off the '6 buck chuck' that she'd picked up at trader joes. he got a little mushy and slushy of speech and said, "i love you guys" right as the pizza came out of the oven. but that too, that's different. that was aimed at a group (or the characters on 'will and grace' that danced across the scene, she really can't be sure thinking back).

she was getting angry now. it had started off as a blush of the cheek and a 'charlie brown' kick at the dust moment, but it had turned into deep magenta, volcanic rage that threatened to burn her up from the inside out. "you just can't say that to someone!" open your mouth, she admonished herself, tell him, blugeon him they way he just did you. sling a "fuck you too" right back at him. because that's was what this was amounting to. because really. if she had let herself think for one moment that what he said was real, she'd get used to it. she'd get comfortable with the idea. she might even hope/expect/need to hear it again. and that, that's where the real trouble starts. because that's when you never hear it again.

"you're amazing, you know?". what the hell did he think he was doing? could he not see that she was seething with confusion? christ, this guy has balls! it's been less than a minute and he's lobbed two... TWO... of these at her. she couldn't recover.

her body was betraying her though. that warmth, that flutter, it was all starting. she might even have been starting to smile. STOP IT, she commanded herself. she had waited so long for those words to slip from someone's heart. her head was going one way and her body and heart the other. she felt like a wishbone on thanksgiving, being yanked apart by two snotnosed, grease-mouthed children.

she watched his mouth begin to open again. damn, he's going to say something else. damn he's pretty. "you too", she said. maybe that will stall him. she'd seen him start to form a word, like watching a car skidding out of of control in painfully slow motion. she'd seen it and stopped it. but, "you too," was that the best she could come up with? hey, at least it had worked. nope, he's doing it again. forming words. bad, stop, please, no more. i beg you.

he's twitching. it's a tic. no, it's a stoke, she knew it, he's not thinking straight. oh, he's reaching into his pocket. "phone's on vibrate, let me get this" he says. "go for it, i gotta get out of here anyway. i'll see ya" she half whispers/half speaks.

and she's out the door and breathing free in less time than it takes for an embolism to rupture. digging into her purse, she roots around for her own phone. a quick flip and dial and her sister is on the line. "how did it go?" her sister asks.

"third dates are the worst!" she says, "you just never know where they're gonna go".

i finished toby's monkey man hat.

crocheted a brown hat with big brown and pink-insided ears on either side.

like the kin in the picture.

he wore it. got this email from him and laughed so hard i was in tears.

maybe you have to know toby, and if you do, get the image in your head.

here's the email...

got the hat yesterday.
its cool.
thanks.
some chick wants to buy one.
can't have mine...
anyway,
let's get to the action.
it was saturday.
i'm six beers in and need to piss.
i knock on the men's room door...
it's occupado.
i wait.
i wait.
i wait.
i make several wiseass comments pertaining to the possible activities in the bathroom.
dude comes out in a suit looking all mafia-d the fuck out.
he looks at me cockeyed and says, "you're real funny mickey mouse. real funny."
i didn't feel like explaining.
i pee.
i pee.
i pee.
this black dude comes in the bathroom, i shut the door in his face.
all i can hear outside the door is,
"what the fuck was that?"
"no, in there...."
"what the fuck was THAT?!"
i mean really. in that second all he prolly saw was hair, hair, penis and monkey hat.


good times

tell me, do you like me?
now that i'm you?
now that i've taken the skip from my stride
and the sweater muzzled slouching repose?

i've dropped the slang and never swear,
i heard once you didn't like it.

tell me, do you like me?
now that i'm you?
now that i disregard those i don't want to see
and turned my back on those who need me?

i've droped the ball you left behind,
i heard you say it wasn't yours to carry.

he knows what he wants--
an esoteric ideal Aphrodite muse
who quotes shakespeare and cnn
then falls quivering to her knees to accept him.
but her, the one he hasn't seen--
her blue jeans, inquisitive eyes
and caustic tongue are stuff of mortals,
politics a bore, she quotes film instead.
a decade done, adrift, apart, divided,
an accidental network reuinites them-
which pleasantries to exchange,
those of lovers, friends or strangers?
she knows what she wants--
those devious eyes that saw through the bitch
that held her down when her mind wouldn't keep still,
that searched for her longing, lacivious letters in blue.
but him, the one she hasn't seen--
time has civilized and sobered,
matured him into a full bodied white collar
dulled his gaze and of his azure hair.

not waking 

this reawakened desire,
visceral tug,
wakes her and shakes her
in a desirous flood.
the volumious darkness,
still, empty, midnight,
phantom hands grip her
with promised delight.
they know her dreams,
her fantasies bare,
materialized her mind
with a physical tear.
she knows too well
not to open her eyes,
to let in the "real",
lest the moment subsides.
a tongue, a nail, traces
the length of her thigh,
tender yet forceful commences
this sensuous ride.
lips float on her neck
while teeth pierce at her breast
a new mouth envelops
her moistening lips.
hands pour over her flesh,
and it heats and it writhes,
touch probing onward
places she hides.
a kiss at her wrist lingers,
caressing the lines
totems of pain
shunned my most eyes.
but her lover's hands hold her,
delights in her whole,
as a ravaged and ravishing
woman-goddess-story untold.

i miss you rapture. wherever you are, please come home to me. your extremes, your fire, your tangling embrace and lusty breath. if you read this, come back. i'm waiting, but my patience is growing thin.

my new home 

she is beauty,
gentle curves, heaving peaks,
edges trailing in natural lace,
decorated in pearls and gems.

she is creation,
forming fresh valleys and hills,
changing them at whim.

she is destruction,
breaking down mountains in her path,
shattering rock in a single push.

when she purges,
man and animal both
scuttle and pick at the treasures she leaves.

when she steals,
its not need, but an act of power,
reminding you who is in control.

she will play as a child,
gentle and bubbling,
as the babe who clings to patents leg and rides atop the foot,
so she does.

she will fight as an adult,
pushing, tugging, slapping, choking,
invoking full force, establishing dominance and pulling back,
so she does.

she wraps you, cradles you, carries you,
as any good mother would.

she is poetry and legend and archetype,
as any good muse would be.

she reflects the breadth of the sky
and the blue of your eyes
and the rush of your blood
and the pounding of your heart
and the darkness of your depths
and the fluidity of your smile.

brian... my sweet brian. the boy from savannah. the sex in savannah. my love during georgia southern.

he's to be married. it's what he always wanted. the wife and the kids and the kids and the kids, and a house and all that.

i couldn't give it to him, and i'm not entirely sure he wanted it from me. he did at one moment refer to me as repulsive or maybe it was just the cut.

regardless, he's set to marry on october 22. not long off.

i wish him all the best. i love him all the more for making his own dreams come true.

if she unflods more of her petals

her naked vulnerabilites expose

if she holds the petals too tightly

they'll decay and rot her to the core