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The Loving Nature of Boy & Girl


I can admit now that nothing felt real or true when we’d met
That life seemed like one whirlwind after another, and that
I was a street sweeper paid to redistribute bullshit

I can admit now that the timing wasn’t right, that he felt too kind
Too gentle, and too generally overflowing in hidden love to be human
Even to an alien open to embracing the enigmas of her kind

I can admit now that his absence revealed in me an unfamiliar
Sense of desperation, born from the idea that never again would
Life open a space for me to express love in a heart like his

I can admit now to allowing the illusion of being unique to take over
That for a while I believed separating actions from intentions
Could release the genie from our bottles and grant peace

I can admit now how foreign and fearful it felt to need someone
When before him, the status quo of being alone never accompanied
The sense that some part of me had gone missing

I can admit now how much his life inspired me to use my hands
To write, to touch others, and to touch myself with his
Hands in my memory

I can admit now that every moment alone with him felt like sweet
Passion claiming freedom, wildly abandoning to itself, and ignoring
An unspoken backdrop of impending sorrow

I can admit now that my efforts to let go have all failed
That there is a continued struggle in knowing more than
It seems I should without effort, and without knowing why

I can admit now that I’ve never wanted to feel the stillness of a
Man while inside of me, as much as I want to feel it with him,
Until finding in his eyes confidence in my body’s safekeeping

I can admit now that I’d never felt safe to travel various
Landscapes of sexual gratification, until the time my butt
Found accommodation on his thighs and his hands became
A belt around my naked waist

I can admit now that life brings me to my knees in exhaustion
That no matter how full it seems to be or how much gratitude
I find in now, my love of him is sustained in and around the
Lives we never gave up on

I can admit to kissing him in my bed each night and pretending
His arms are embracing me
To thinking of him every day since the day we met
To reciting a prayer for his peace every afternoon
To describing a joke for his smile every evening
To caring for him in all the ways a friend and wife should

I can admit now to being crazy, and to hearing his laughter
In the acknowledgment that he’s crazy too

I can admit now to using too many words when few
Would do, but
Would they? Could they?
Should they do little like a peck, when long, endless kisses are where passion finds expression?

I can admit now that it seems I’ve made a difficult choice with
An unpredictable ending
But most days I don’t believe that
Because knowing how the story plays out is not the essence of focus When success is promised

The idea of mother was planted in my soul
Long before the seeds of life
The concept of flowering was planted in my seeds
Long before the gardening of their hearts

So it was

The idea of caring for my lover was planted in my soul
Long before the presence of need
The notion of lack was planted in our love
Long before the weeding of our hearts

So it is

The idea has taken root
Presence becomes need
Lack becomes abundance
Hearts bloom to petals overflowing


The only thing that makes a wish envisioned not come true,
is the false belief that vision is more important than truth,
because if love ever be the outcome, then the hope be forever
granted.

If dreams seek less to receive love, and more to fulfill the nature of
Who we are, then routines of daily life have no choice but to
Become less trivial in their pursuit to bring healing to all hearts.


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