fuck me

sometimes the mind is loved
and the body violated
in the same moment

how odd this dance

is the body wiser than the mind
does it know
does it know how this will end
does it feel it will be more damaged
how dare it feel it will be more damaged
the mind wills and even feels
never fearing
the body
shameful coward
recoils

so i recoiled
once, often
from you

i could never lean in and whisper
fuck me
in that way
barely share the small secrets
that make men lovers and make lovers a solace

i could not go to the toilet
with the door open
when we felt
grey haired
chopping vegetables
humming to each other’s breath

i could not
open my body
like a book
turn page upon page
and let you make notes in the margins
to remind you
of the story
and who you were in it

how odd this dance
alone in your bedroom
shoes kicked off
hastily stopping when the key turns in the door

he is here
and now, i am not

that ki like ki... happy happy birday pg!

adopt a word!

nubivagant, adj. moving through or among the clouds

save the words

97

if 97 girls found a common voice
what would it sound like?
hysterical giggles?
a babble of gossip?
incomprehensible girl talk?

if 97 orphan babies found a common voice
what would it sound like?
a piercing wail?
too-many cries of pain?
scared silence?

if 97 orphan baby girls looked for a common voice
would they find one?

(asha sadan, an orphanage in khetwadi, bombay, currently has 97 orphan babies in their care. all 97 are girls.)

girl effect

crylaughcry

Life Story - Tennessee Williams

After you've been to bed together for the first time,
without the advantage or disadvantage of any prior acquaintance,
the other party very often says to you,
Tell me about yourself, I want to know all about you,
what's your story? And you think maybe they really and truly do

sincerely want to know your life story, and so you light up
a cigarette and begin to tell it to them, the two of you
lying together in completely relaxed positions
like a pair of rag dolls a bored child dropped on a bed.

You tell them your story, or as much of your story
as time or a fair degree of prudence allows, and they say,
Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh,
each time a little more faintly, until the oh
is just an audible breath, and then of course

there's some interruption. Slow room service comes up
with a bowl of melting ice cubes, or one of you rises to pee
and gaze at himself with the mild astonishment in the bathroom mirror.
And then, the first thing you know, before you've had time
to pick up where you left off with your enthralling life story,
they're telling you their life story, exactly as they'd intended to all along,

and you're saying, Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh,
each time a little more faintly, the vowel at last becoming
no more than an audible sigh,
as the elevator, halfway down the corridor and a turn to the left,
draws one last, long, deep breath of exhaustion
and stops breathing forever. Then?

Well, one of you falls asleep
and the other one does likewise with a lighted cigarette in his mouth,
and that's how people burn to death in hotel rooms.

haha

"There are some people who would
never have fallen in love if they had not
heard there was such a thing."
– Louis La Rochefoucauld