Muscle Poems

Sexy men are dangerous and assumed to be distant.

 

He’s wanting to care for me.

 

Being in the freedom to be yourself is as unconscious as spilling the unconscious is.

 

Grief in thick layers made him seem distrustful, but for whose benefit was he holding back?

 

Undiluted. Dirty. In the dirty water, stems of soggy grass, piss green and thick with mud was where something was happening. The flower stems were entwined in a desperate position to suck up the moisture and pungent nutrients. Her vacant eyes were drawn to the vase and it awakened her. It looked sexual to her parched lips. The messy, unsanitized, sweating orgy of grass is where sex is.

 

The empathic moment-to-moment recognition, clear-seeing, with their surprised discovery that they had the same language glued the two of them into hypnotic safety, relief and finally bliss.

 

He let himself tell her what was going on in his mind. She left him after that, too vapid and fickle to stay once she got to know him. But it seemed that if he told her, it was all she wanted. She could not handle the complexity of his wounds, the places his imagination went, how he comforted himself and where he needed the safety to just be.

 

He walked to her as they planned to meet like this on the day. His razor voice, chiseled features, softened longing eyes, downy hair, trapped tight muscles that were strong and supple. She was losing air for words, and they were trembling in fervency.

 

A kiss, I realize, is a human need. Just a small dose reassures me of that bond of affection. Our kisses occur daily in our unspoken, intuitive, agreed upon way. A kiss is a word, a warm wet lingering sensation igniting a vibration. It is needed at a hello, at a momentary unsteadiness in love, and as a parting gift before we drift off to sleep in our individual dreamtime.

 

The eyes are affected by the experiences we have in this life, as well as by all we have been through as a soul throughout eternity. You can tell in the eyes who is used to telling the truth and who is not. Yes, the truth and the eyes are another language.

 

His shy nakedness in the bathtub. His shy charm that bears no guile. He bears an unassuming surprise at the revelation of his beauty. His essence is innocence. His essence is humility and it is beautiful.

 

…Pausing and proceeding with each touch slowly, then watch him. He would like me to reflect to him all his beauty and his art. He said I am his poetry.