Monday, June 15, 2009

suzu's song

little bell ring for me, for me
skinny jeans and long black hair
the world better beware
you are coming for to make it all your own
eyes are open wide and taking it all in
you're gonna be known

little bell sing for me, for me
laying all your hopes on the line
this is your time
with a smile on you take it as it comes
pulling for your dreams you take a breath
and tell him he's the one

little bell ring for me, for me
little bell you've got one chance
better make it last

fly a long, long way

little bell sing for me


listen

Sunday, June 14, 2009

in the morning

The slow creep of the day
comes forward like a parent into a sleeping child's room,
desperately trying not to wake them for fear of ruining their dreams.
From where my head rests on your shoulder I watch the pulse in your neck
steadily ticking forth the minute where you are gone.
Your blood and the sunlight are relentless reminders that time will not stop, not even for us.

You stir in your sleep. We have slept too close for too long
and now my hair sticks to your neck as I raise my head to look at you:
one leg up, making a tent with the sheet,
a trace of sunburn pinking your tanned skin.
I move carefully, again resting my head on your chest and closing my eyes,
willing the sunlight to recede like an enemy defeated.
Your hand moves on my shoulder, precoursed by the muscles under my ear and around my back.
It's strange how it fits there, as if my skin and bones were always your home
and we had laid like this a million times before.
Your grasp tightens. Pulling me closer
even though the heat is almost unbearable.

It is then that I realize you aren't asleep either:
like me you've been sneaking secret looks down our lengths,
tingling at every place we touch.
At the same time we both decide to be brave and look when we know the other is watching,
no longer hiding in the dark corners of bars or spotty street lights.
In the full light of day we meet, unshrinking,
and face the morning together.

after mexican food

the lights of bleecker street seem low somehow
or maybe it's that all i can see is your face,
eyes staring out at me as the words stumble out of my mouth
like drunken actors forgetting their lines.

i hate that you're right, and that once again
i could have done better.
i should have done better.
my eyes are searching for a place to look that is anywhere but you
and they follow the passersby who are probably wondering
why we're standing here.