LAST FIRST KISS

There only a certain few magical first kisses in this lifetime.
When longing and breath and scent and sentiment slide
deep into our lungs on every heavy sigh, and ride the light
that enters through your eyes, warming your velvet walled
soul. When twisting tongues speak the whole truth of you.
Learning the labyrinth of your mind quietly, and assures
you like water to drink. Inside the sweet fog tickles and
expands so every cell is imbued wit the dewy dense potion,
filling and fueling every soft motion towards the other.
Hips and shoulders and hallowed bellies seek like surfaces,
pressing and molding desperately into this momentary home.
There on a doorstep, on tip toes, that one surprising kiss.
And you know this will be the last first kiss for a long while.

ATTRACTION DISTRACTION

ATTRACTION DISTRACTION


I’ve been driven by attraction since my awareness of boys vs.
girls I guess. I had my first crush in kindergarten, flirting through
the monkey bars as he played miniature husband to my tiny wife.
There may have been a few respites when I thought boys were gross.
But mostly, every day out the door has been a certain amount about
the interaction with attraction. Out to attract a little attention at least,
or my perfect match at best. Always hoping to bump into my happily
-ever-after handsome hunk if you please, as we pass on the sidewalk
with a nice nod and then he’s gone. Oh well. I wouldn’t want to come
to the end of this quest quite yet in any case.
So I fall for every face cream and hair product and fashion trend that
might enhance my chances. And then I fine-tune my radar receptors to
detect my reception. I am not one to bitch about catcalls. Why complain
about being recognized as worthy of a whistle, after going to all that
trouble after all. I remember first finding out that I had some sort of
appeal in 7th grade when I heard some boys commenting on my behind
as I walked ahead in my seamless jeans. I was shocked by that initial
insight. Not only that I had a cute butt, but that butts were thought cute.
It was a more naive time, keep in mind. I wore those jeans as often as I
could from that point on. And was perfectly content to let all my flirting
go on silently from behind. I was shy. That summer while staying at the
lake cabin of my bad influence friend, I learned that I could make more
of the impact. Over a campfire I held a cute boy’s eye contact, and it was
that moment I had my first taste of the power of sex appeal. I had set my
sites, and it was certain, he’d be mine. We made-out that night - my first
time ever. I considered myself to be funny looking all through high school.
If it weren’t for my ‘fine ass’ I wouldn’t have gotten any action. But I grew
into my looks a little and I came to recognize slowly that there’s a lot more
to attraction than model beauty (or a ghetto booty.) What I had over other
girls was my approachability. Maybe because of how damn aware of any
attention in my direction. “Hello you too.”
So it continues. I have participated in night –life for a few decades, and
have kept my eyes open on each and every outing. Single or taken, alone
or with my crew, I am still eager to catch eyes with you. It’s hard to get
me out of the house without the incentive of some possible attention, no
matter how fleeting. And the answer might have to be no this time, but I
will always be honored to be asked.

DEFINITE MAYBE

AND NOW AGAIN another Month later, 10/25

Another beginning of another ending. We went to love parade, and the Decompression party, and then there was the invite to the group camping trip. How could I pass that up? I replied with my definite maybe, depending on what mood we might be in. We seemed to find a way to repair enough for each weekend. And then fall in till mid week when we’d stumble then crumble and crash, and then offer each other another round of comfort and reconnect just in time to accept another invitation to join the weekend crew. JF and V. in the center of it all again. So I said yes. I hadn’t been on his new RV after all. It was great. I loved it so. What other way to join this clan than with my man, we fit so well in that form. We had a beautiful time and got all caught up in the making of more momentum. Same crew was gathering again the following weekend to board the R.V. for a Halloween Fest. Of course I want to get dressed with the girls. We were going as 1920’s lesbians. Anais and June! By all means I’m on the RV. But then the middle of the week loomed and reality roared and I realized we were not allowing the letting go. Not even a little, with all these enticing weekend sweetnesses. So I called to cancel my inclusion in the weekend. And finished with my weak request, that he not call me again. At least for two weeks. It was all I could come up with in the moment.
“But we’ve been doing so well. What the hell?” Yes we had, but to what end? Repeatedly it’s been confirmed, we’re not getting back together, just slowing down our dissolve. I can’t live like that. He said he understood, and Happy Birthday, (just less than two weeks away.) Okay, I allowed. We can manage a birthday reprieve. So 10/25 to 11/6 we dedicated to our silence. Texts might be all right. At least 25 texts came in in that time.

Finally on the evening of the 6^th we met to go on my ideal date. He picked me up at the coffee shop in Hayes valley in his RV, and we drove over the GG Bridge to Nick’s Shanti Cove, a classic waterfront fisherman’s dive now fine restaurant an hour north in Marshall. After an elegant dinner out, champagne and tears, oysters and espressos, we pulled into Samuel P Taylor camp ground for our overnight adventure. And made the most of our missing each other. My Oh my, but that man has my number. We played and slept and woke and played and slept. We had breakfast at the campground, walked to the streams edge. Played and took photos and made more use of the R.V. before making it to Point Reyes for lunch and then to Frogs in Fairfax for an afternoon soak in the hot tub hideout. Home to catch a movie and more cuddling in. Ideal.

We had made it through the two weeks. Now what? All rules were off. What was I supposed to expect this round?

I had a date with my sister on the 8^th, and a girlfriend on the 9^th, a wedding on the 10^th and my birthday party on the 11^th. I invited A. We danced. I swooned. My friends began to be charmed by him again. They turned in their doubts and renewed their approval. We looked adorable. We felt just right. He was tall and strong to my tango dips, sweet and smiling to my clumsy trips. We fit right in. (Busy all Monday. Dinner with an ex on Tuesday, Film with a girlfriend on Wednesday and extended birthday dinner with D. on Thursday) It was Friday already before we found ourselves open. I called. Maybe he’d be free. “Maybe?” doesn’t work for me. What about lunch? He was slow to respond. Lunch okay. But then well after noon, my mood had turned. “I don’t want to see you” I recoiled. I didn’t need to explode on him again. Wait until this bitterness subsides.

I went out for a long stroll, and he called again. Why was I so upset? Cause I have no say in this play. I feel powerless to his whim of intermittent motivation. I can’t request cause I’ve stated over and over I can’t accept, so I have to coyly wait until he pleads past my stubborn front. Please plead. I want more of you, I need each text and call and nudge that I pretend to push away. But I don’t want a little. I want a lot. I am not satisfied with the crumbs. I want the whole pie. I want what I want, and not some sad compromise. I was mad again. “Just bye,” my reply. But I didn’t want to pout it out all by myself. When he called again, I stammered “Pick me up.” I’ll be at the Can’t Fail Café. He arrived in short time to share in my grimace and growl. He tried weakly to make his case. He’s been nothing but good to me, he reasoned, he loves me deeply. Then take me truly, fully, hold on and don't let go. Though it seems he's just not willing to take that step, forward or back. Well then, if he can’t choose me he can’t have me.

NOW NOVEMBER 18^th,

I spent that week gasping for another breath of it, as I checked and checked for another text. I felt the silence expand between those beeps. And had to admit his contact kept me afloat, with a palpable loft every time he called. And he was good about it. I could count on my morning afternoon and nightly call. Why wasn’t that enough.

Is there any other option? Should I have been more expressive, and tried harder to make my case. Is there more room to meet in the middle? Is there any other angle of approach? Or is this just the truth I have to get used to in the time it takes. Starting now.

And then again…….

KINDNESS OF STRANGERS

KINDNESS OF STRANGERS:

NEPALESE MAMA


We had lasted through the long night, a collection of random travelers clinging to the youth hostel’s patio, as the sky brightened, then went electric blue. Stars twinkled and were lost as the lake caught the first morning light. It was time for the comfort of my own rented room. I’d been in Pokhara, Nepal for an extended stop. Two days had extended into two weeks. As morning dawned and I was heading homeward along the water’s edge I was joined by a beautiful Mama with khol lined eyes and a babe on her hip. She invited me to sit for tea. Lead into her family’s one room home, I sat as she filled two earthen cups, while her husband dressed their big girls in tattered school uniforms. And then she made her plea. Anything would help. Yes I see. I would love to extend my comforts some. The price of breakfast at home would buy them a new girls dress. All I had, equal to $7 U.S., I pressed into her palm, and was grateful for the chance to impact their lives some, as they had mine.

MEETING the MOON

MIXED METAPHORS OVER THE EAST BAY



The dark orange moon rises waxing over Oakland's shipyard shores
Enlarged in the atmosphere's haze behind dinosaur cranes
She shifts left as we corner treasure island
to dip shyly behind Berkeley's highest hill
And ducks her gaze to match her moon eyes to mine.

I meet the plane of my face to her waxing ways
and add my sighs into her night skies
Gracefully she offers to sweep this sadness up into her skirts.
and inhale this darkness into her long night’s light.

And then she'll turn again, to crest past our earth's curve
and make this mood another memory softened in hindsight
and enriched in poetry's precious recipe
to reduce ripe pain into a worthy rue.
And I'll drive this bridge again under her gaze,
to be moonlit by the powder light of my own long forgotten blues.