Bunnyhug
Lilli and I have been "officially" together 1 year on February 14th (we actually got together in the middle/end of January, but decided V-day was a better anniversary date). We celebrated at P'Con. Here's the poem I wrote for her as an anniversary gift:
For my Sister Babalon, Pook la Rue, my Scarlet Harlot.
Dreams foretold.
Your fevered glance and smile
caught me, mad giggling, round like
the rose-petal pools of your eyes
when we first kissed;
too-tired to drive home, too cold, and
there I was, a rabbit in the grass
to your proud kitty.
But baby, you're the bunny
in this hug,
and though this love pulled the rug
out from under my identity
(crisis averted, bisexual bliss
was not missed in my post-queer
sledge-hammering-happy-here-we-go outside the box),
I am stunned, moment by moment,
at the intense fragility we posses
like a flame between us, tender-cared,
soft-caress of insides and outsides,
in the sway of your power
you open me,
like e.e. said, petal-by-petal.
Your small hands, so rain-like and beautiful,
(but on the other side of the rain,
like fairy-fingers grasping clouds,)
I can smell your smile for miles and miles.
(Let's sing:)
"An amber ring to wed our beds
and toss about in dream --
We wake and bake the bun
some more, and go out for ice cream."
You catch me each morning, waking next to your curled
form, unfurling along side you
to greet the morning with prayers and silent listening,
to drink the cleansing cup and stand with you between
the candle and the stars, dark arcs bridging light upon light.
By your red lips, I am caught and I catch you, (twin pillars holding up the
lintel of our life together,) this joint work.
But we're not just parallel, we're perpendicular,
and the angles of your eyes catch me unwinding my spool,
a low moon caught, hair-dressed and undressed,
tangled in your red hair.
This is the bunnyhug, we'll keep the cold out,
and just huddle a little closer together.
Pooka, give me your hands, and we'll be.
For my Sister Babalon, Pook la Rue, my Scarlet Harlot.
Dreams foretold.
Your fevered glance and smile
caught me, mad giggling, round like
the rose-petal pools of your eyes
when we first kissed;
too-tired to drive home, too cold, and
there I was, a rabbit in the grass
to your proud kitty.
But baby, you're the bunny
in this hug,
and though this love pulled the rug
out from under my identity
(crisis averted, bisexual bliss
was not missed in my post-queer
sledge-hammering-happy-here-we-go outside the box),
I am stunned, moment by moment,
at the intense fragility we posses
like a flame between us, tender-cared,
soft-caress of insides and outsides,
in the sway of your power
you open me,
like e.e. said, petal-by-petal.
Your small hands, so rain-like and beautiful,
(but on the other side of the rain,
like fairy-fingers grasping clouds,)
I can smell your smile for miles and miles.
(Let's sing:)
"An amber ring to wed our beds
and toss about in dream --
We wake and bake the bun
some more, and go out for ice cream."
You catch me each morning, waking next to your curled
form, unfurling along side you
to greet the morning with prayers and silent listening,
to drink the cleansing cup and stand with you between
the candle and the stars, dark arcs bridging light upon light.
By your red lips, I am caught and I catch you, (twin pillars holding up the
lintel of our life together,) this joint work.
But we're not just parallel, we're perpendicular,
and the angles of your eyes catch me unwinding my spool,
a low moon caught, hair-dressed and undressed,
tangled in your red hair.
This is the bunnyhug, we'll keep the cold out,
and just huddle a little closer together.
Pooka, give me your hands, and we'll be.