When I came in you came to me

and you were trembling; I liked it.

When I stood behind you

and leaned toward your neck

your arms shook; I liked that too.

When you lay on the bed

trying not to look at me

your legs were involuntarily

opening a little; I liked that more.

When I told you that all I wanted

was your complete submission

your body arched up from the bed

involuntarily.

You knelt above, naked,

and pulled your hair across me.

Your hair hides your face.

I had to reach

and push it aside to pull your mouth to mine.

Your eyes flutter open against your will

when I tell you the only way to get what you want

is to look at me.

Our awareness narrows to my face

almost touching your shoulder.

You know that my owning you

is what you want

so why would you ever think

you could go back to not having this?

The way you can

fully relax into sleep

your back to me

makes me yearn to let go

the same way

of all that ties me

to old thinking

to old responding

to old patterning

and to embrace

my new life as fully

as you surround me

arms and legs wrapped against my skin

After work there are dishes in the sink

crumpled white linen napkins and green

handmade (of course) ceramic mugs on the table

I bring to mind an image of you

sitting across, in last night’s light

joy threatening to overwhelm me

has as much to do with mugs

and dishes and the rest of everyday

as it does with any big decision

refusing to be dead any more

refusing to not pay attention to

the texture of the mug

the way the half and half leaves

traces on the inside surface

refusing to accept distance

refusing to be shamed

for my desire for life

for liking to glitter

for my desire, period;

I pole-vault into everything new

the sunshine reflecting off

bits of wax from the candles

another lover gave me

that I lit last night while we ate

your change of clothes

still in my closet

Sometimes old fashioned words work the best.

In the morning, you are wearing your soft

paisley robe and I tell you

I adore you. You take my hand

and gently kiss my palm.

Last night we drank old fashioneds.

We had stayed in bed all afternoon

then after a walk, made supper

and I drank too much

and my body wouldn’t respond to yours

and I felt ashamed.

You wrapped me in your arms

so gently

and kissed my back.

I know things in my body that

you don’t say but I still know them.

An old fashioned way, like my parents

generation, saying less,

living in the unsaid.

Why the fuck can’t I just trust that?