love poems.

i'm dreaming of a certain kind of man. 

there was once a greek. who pulled at my deepest
mascocistic desires. he spoke and moved aggressively. 

he had traces of that kind of man i'm talking about.
which is why i'm always intrigued back, a little bit.
when he makes comments about how much
i want his cock. or how much it needs
something. artful.

but greece is brutal. he pillaged and burned me.
and my body can only so many times be a battle field.

 

* * * * * * * *
 

i found him in the spirit between spain and india. 

 long hair and dark deep light flicked hazel eyes.
we spend days in each others arms. and bodies.
and lives. as deep as deep could get. night
after night after night of learning and
pure sexual pleasure. i thought, i've found
god in a man. the human form of the divine. and
i knelt down and honored him. with every single
bit of my body i gave him the best.
his was a cock

to worship. 

when we parted, the nights were torture. and i rushed
back to see him. but he, for the giving, he foresaked me.
he turned out to be a dick in gentleman's clothing.
when i came back, he was not rushing.
 
he was done. 

and now - the soul mating has already faded, into
a distant, familiar cynical memory.

* * * * * * * * 


run away. 

i'm a little girl in a playground chasing boys 
with dangling granddaddy long leg spiders. 
 the only way i can own my power is to
convince myself that they need to be chased
like it will be good for them somehow. 
or somehow convince myself
that its better this way for me.

* * * * * * * * 


the jewish boy was dimpled. 
with the brightest blue eyes.
he was the reason i read the alchemist. 
and the final kickstart to move to new york.


we rode a carousel. 
he called every two days.
it was going to be perfect. 


but.
he was sporty.
and i was an art world.


so we bid farewell into an awkward silence. 

where i once again realized that
there is no such thing as perfect.


* * * * * * * * 


when the ukranian came back, 
after a long and insufferable silence,
there was no trace of the want i once had. 


his once handsome face, was ugly and mishapen.
he said he wanted to talk, and i said ok talk. 


but he started with a touch. one that
was so unwelcomed it was flung back in his face,
from mine. a hand on my cheek. 


to think that once i trembled at the thought
of having long, enduring sex with this man,
brings me to an inner shame and
embarrassment i can


hardly describe.

this had nothing to do with the talk
that we never ended up having
since at that he left like the pussy
he always was, that i should

have seen, from the start.
but how. only in retrospect.



* * * * * * * * 


she has dreamy eyes, and blonde curls.
a slow easy smile. long white limbs. a fleeting 
evening of hip bones and girl kisses.. a female heat
that pads these painful memories with a soft
gentle mystery of comfort that only women 

can know how to
naturally vibrate.


* * * * * * * *