this is exactly what I love:
early mist, morning in the woods
nothing in particular to do but float in solitude,
thinking fondly of loved ones
and the sacred distance from and between them.
Kote chewing tall grass
curious peacocks and one-footed hens
startled doves, and no feathers on the ground
tiny pink and white spring petals where I expected them
mosses and lichens, green on the side of everything
collecting lilac and cedar bows,
a care-filled gesture
bundled and wrapped tight and loosely
in cottons, wools, and silk
hole in the boot as usual
and carrying Sofia’s scent of some fire
her smell of knowledge
tinctures and drinking and dancing
she knows all the plants of the Pacific Northwest
our home, our evergreen.
thank you for the eggs I made for breakfast
thank you for the strong coffee
thank you for the only slightly windy beach
the barefootable sand, plentiful and randomly clapping barnacles
piles and piles of grooved blue muscles
we could eat forever
thank you for the dog dates,
naked board games, work visits and beer
thank you for taking me shooting up Black Diamond Road
and for letting me decide not to shoot
thank you for the warm bed,
the slugs and the frogs at night
thank you for braiding my hair, and talking shit
thank you for the empty house to write in
even though I didn’t write.
Survived a turbulent (productive) therapy session.
Appreciated the hella fat glowing moon.
Met four gorgeous and amazing queer women on the dance floor.
Did not drink.
Wore really gaudy earrings. And crimped hair.
Laughed so hard I cried.
Gained a new sense of hope.
Fell asleep while masturbating, laughing exausted, exclaiming:
I found the dykes!
What did it feel like?
It was more than physical pleasure, and different than regular penetration. I felt out of my body and I felt more in my body than I ever have before. I thought about birth, death, coming. But I didn’t even want to come, I just didn’t want it to end. The movement, the pushing, the twisting, the wetness of the lube on your hands. A version of home. I trusted you completely, but I was still a little scared. “Almost” you told me later looking at your hands.
It wasn’t our first time, but it was our first time face to face. I thought about how nice my First Time might have been if it had been with you.
Your nose ring kept falling out and you let me ride you on top. It felt amazing to hold you so close to me. Your body hard and soft at once. I was reminded of how nice it can be to fuck your friends. We kissed hard and soft. You pinned me back and pulled me back into your arms, I felt drunk. You bit my shoulder too hard, but I secretly liked the mark it left. We fucked with the lights on and I noticed scars, tattoos I hadn’t seen before. You made faces you hadn’t shown me before. Pressing up against you in the secret attic, I didn’t tell you about a forgotten crush rekindling inside me. You seemed to have enough on your plate.
In the morning you made us coffee and waffles and we talked about family and racism and cultural appropriation and cats and coming out. Outside it was dreary and drippy and dark, but I felt hopeful despite it. You made me feel sexy and respected and interesting. I walked home with music and noticed buildings and windows I hadn’t before.
On Christmas day there was bright sun above the trees outside the window of the empty bus. I watched the store fronts and people pass as I rode through parts of Portland I’d never really been through before. Hiking up my sparkly tights walking from the bus stop, I thought about holding your hand. I fantasized about you riding up on your bike as I clapped my boots down Interstate. You’d flash me that intoxicating smile and I’d think about how good you look in eyeliner. And you’d be thinking what I’m thinking: that I’m leaving today and it’s our last chance to make out. And you’d just kiss me right there and we’d laugh all the way to the party.
even though in the city
I live at the summit of a small mountain
great lanky beasts pass my morning window
that is lined with tokens, a seed, a shell, a rail road spike
I catch myself in the mirror
so grounded, so in love with myself
so proud to have lifted this body
carried it out of places so far behind me
oh my friends, I carry you slung to my hips
when I dance you are there with me
when I move swiftly through the day’s chores
when I cook, dog at my feet catching the stray bits
everything I touch these days is old and new at once
even though in the city
I live at the summit of a glorious mountain
my cat loves the sun
stretched white belly fur
tiny pulsing pink pads
she is blissful, soaking up all it’s healing light
she knows it cures whatever ails her
if I believed in a heaven
it would exist in the universe that is her shimmering fur
among the glossy black spots
angelic and glowing
there is nothing more perfect than this.
stepping over the sleepy dog
precious cup of golden coffee
the air is cooling, fall
lots and lots of asparagus
ate fish at the memorial
tattooed grandpa on my skin
good thick paper and nice black pens
cat fur mornings
words all stumbling over eachother
racing to burst out
look at me,