Aubade (in progress)

My lover makes me breakfast in the dark, four
a.m., me shivering in boots
and breeches, the sun not even up, helmet
tucked between my knees and hair half-braided.

(And her in flannel shirt and pants, a blanket
wrapped around her shoulders,
squinting without glasses into oatmeal
coming to a boil.)

--

I've been working with variations on ( Read more... )

I have both an iTouch (semi-elderly) and an iPhone (NEW AND SO EXCELLENT) that I keep with me fairly regularly, and I find that I compose poetry on them in place of the scraps of paper I've traditionally used. It's sort of a weird way to write, but I'm slowly getting used to it.

Here's one--a tiny little love poem--from late last winter.

Snow ( Read more... )

The water thrusts me towards it, until ( Read more... )

My junior year I was single for the first time in years. I'm good with girls. They like me - the way I move, the way I don't apologize, or perhaps the way I look something like a boy, all long and lean and laughing. God knows I've had more than my fair share of supposedly straight girls eying me in what they probably thought was a surreptitious ( Read more... )