Our hearts beat so loud the neighbours think we’re fucking when I’m just trying to find the nerve to touch your face.
If you think seeing a naked woman
is a disappointment
because what you had imagined was so much
better than what was there, may I suggest looking at it in a new way.
Maybe instead of pondering
the tentacles and mouths beneath
you could ponder the bright things
that lurk beneath her skin.
You can look
at her glistening pussy lips and wonder,
must run through her body to create
that overflow of wetness.
You can look at her breasts,
dark and sensitive and soft, feeling
in your hands like the greatest of treasures, and come
up with multiple theories as to what lies
beneath them that could possibly make them mould
to your touch and respond so enthusiastically
to your tongue.
Her body is so much more
miraculous and dream-worthy and mysterious
when naked than when she wears clothes.
The mystery has never been what might be
found under her clothes; that is just something of hers
because she thinks you to be clever.
is in imagining what writhes under her skin that makes her body move the way it does;
what worlds are inside her that create a gravitational pull so unyielding;
what makes her body a fertile ground, enough to grow the tenderness
of her gaze, the audacity of her courage, and the ferocity of her tongue.
The mystery has always been
how you plan on maintaining your cleverness
for just long enough
to convince her to let you stay
with her, there,
and naked, too, beside her.
(This is a response to a (much better) poem by Neil Gaiman about nudity.
The problem with not loving
and avoiding broken hearts
is that inspiration seems to
and maybe that’s just me
hence why I think I’m a hack
I cannot draw words from
I’ve been empty and vacant
perhaps I’m fighting myself
or maybe I’m just too
why doth thou escape my wandering fingertips
the days have grown lonely without your cantor
sing me a song
a beautiful song
and perhaps I can find my voice
I love you
It’s been cheapened
tossed around so carelessly
I love you
while it may be truthful
it doesn’t carry the weight
that it once did
that it still should
I love you
No, I love YOU
so when I say it
after all the empty lines
you’ve heard time and time again
you don’t hear me
when I tell you
with every ounce of my heart
I love you
Kung hindi mo alam
ang mga bagay na nakapag-papaiyak sa akin
hindi mo din ako kayang pangitiin.
I want to do with you what spring does with the cherry trees.
Let the silence come.
Let it come and wrap around me like a blanket.
Let my head be clear,
my ears be numb,
let it be quiet for a while.
Come lay down next to me.
There’s not a thing you need to say,
there are no words I need to hear.
Just lay with me,
press you lips against my ear,
I am weary of this noise
and of the way the world thinks it needs it.
Chatter, jabber, tv,
radio blasted in my car.
Promises, questions, ultimatums.
Everyday I try to answer
and the words get stuck
because my spirit wants to be still.
So come, my love,
and lay your head upon my chest.
Feel the rise and fall of my body,
the language of my heart,
and know that something in my body speaks to you,
with every beat,
even if my lips never find the words.
I love every word of this poem. Can anyone tell me who wrote this?
Why shouldn’t love
be a form of repetition?
The morning she beholds him,
he is bending over a face
the water restores to his vivid gaze
Moved to a boldness,
and tucked between the reeds,
she reveals her shape to him
petal by lucent petal:
an offering of self
common to all who crave
to be possessed.
But she finds he cannot look at her
without wishing to see himself
upon the mirror of her eyes—
beautiful, as he fancies
he always is.
In this way does she begin to tremble,
and soften finally into sound:
a rustling above trees,
dull squeaks in the undergrowth.
A voice she prays he hears
above his own name’s song,
humming perfect inside his head.
A pool of rippled language,
deeper than all listening—
love calling vainly to itself.
~Neil Garcia, “Echo”
I have scarcely left you
When you go in me, crystalline,
Or uneasy, wounded by me
Or overwhelmed with love, as
when your eyes
Close upon the gift of life
That without cease I give you.
We have found each other
Thirsty and we have
Drunk up all the water and the
We found each other
And we bit each other
As fire bites,
Leaving wounds in us.
But wait for me,
Keep for me your sweetness.
I will give you too
I loved her.
Not because she was beautiful,
Even though she was.
The curve of her body did not hypnotize me,
The way the fire in her eyes did.
Or because I thought that she needed me,
She was always the stronger one.
Always deserving something more than he,
or even I, could give.
Instinct in me wanted to save her,
But in the end it was I who was lost.
To my good friend, Michael, because he liked it. ;)