Snippets
…of conversations...about the subject near and dear to my heart…love/not love...dating and not having a clue.
Some stuff happened to me and it threw me way off kilter. I was talking to my friend...this is the 'friend' that I seem to want to be more than friends with and together I think we confronted some of the ‘feelings’ between us – how hard it is to stay ‘just’ friends’ when there’s an attraction between you a ‘spark’ but since he is ‘taken’ I don’t want him to cross lines he should not cross...
These are just snippets from those conversations (via e-mail between each other) All of this came in the context of me asking him if there was a 'moment' between us (because of what has happened to me in the past I sometimes can’t even read my own instincts and I want to make sure I am not ‘imagining’ things) and the relationship between us is so honest that I can actually ask him such things and not feel embarrassed or awkward.
*******
Me: "*laughs* so there WAS a moment - I just want to make sure my signals aren't gone completely - see that's what I was trying to tell you last nite - my wiring seems to be crossed anymore...)
Look part of the friggin problem with BOTH OF US is we are somewhat trying to pretend there is no attraction - I mean I know I am attracted to you - I am not trying to speak for you and, I wasn't suggesting you ENJOY restraining yourself at all - I don't enjoy this much either - but we are also both being selfish cause we enjoy each other's company (translation: we are both friggin' nuts)"
Him: “So, what the heck am I suppose to do. Cheer you on or sweep you off your feet? Ahhh”
Me: “I don't want to play games and I don't want to hurt (you or me) - but I don't think it's a good idea to have temptation constantly at your doorstep, do you? I mean she is a long ways away - and yeah talking is nice and so is e-mail (with her) but there is nothing like the human touch....n'est ce pas? *sigh*
I don't know what to tell you - I guess the safe thing to do - that is if you still want me around - is to root me on....then just hunker down and wait for her...otherwise let me go and we can just be glad we got to know each other this much.
I know a year is a long ways away and I am sorry I keep bringing things up that make us cross this bridge (so it's my fault and I need to keep my mouth shut - jesus why can't I just keep my mouth shut?!?!?!?!?!) Oh and for the record - you had me at whassup (LOL) - I mean you have already swept me off my feet silly man....
So he started to send me poetry and we went back and forth for a bit:
Him: “Oh! those pouting lips,
that honey running fount,
bend o'er thy perfumed hips
that i may suck from that scented mouth
that sweet nectar that wine is to my lips.
blonde bearded beast, fragrant flower of the night
spread well those turgid petals to my sight,
entwine me in those musky tendrils tight, but
that i may cat-like lap that soft hooded bud"
Him: "Near the path through the woods I've seen it:
a trail of white candles.
I could find it again, I could follow
oits light deep into shadows.
Didn't I stand there once?
Didn't I choose to go back
down the cleared path, the familiar?
Narcissus, you said. Wasn't this
the flower whose sudden enchantments
led Persephone down into Hades?
You remember the way she was changed
when she came every spring, having seen
the withering branches, the chasms,
and how she had to return there
helplessly, having eaten
the seed of desire. What was is
I saw you were offering me
without meaning to, there in the sunlight,
while the flowers beckoned and shone
in their flickering season?"
Me: “Man I guess I asked for this huh? no wonder she loves you...”
Him: “...to lay you down in a field of tall grass. arching, touching, the sounds of desire. Nothing else matters...the scent, the sight the taste of your skin. I melt into you something fearless in your eyes something careless about your smile something fragile when you hold your breath and when you move, you move right through me fingertips so gently on my skin...”
Me (sending some poetry to him):
Implications of One Plus One
By: Marge Piercy
Sometimes we collide, tectonic plates merging, continents shoving, crumpling down into the molten veins of fire deep in the earth and raising tons of rock into jagged crests of Sierra.
Sometimes your hands drift on me,
milkweed's airy silk, wingtip's feathery caresses,
our lips grazing, a drift of desires gathering like fog over warm water, thickening to rain.
Sometimes we go to it heartily, digging, burrowing, grunting, tossing up covers like loose earth, nosing into the other's flesh with hot nozzles and wallowing there.
Sometimes we are kids making out, silly in the quilt, tickling the xylophone spine, blowing wet jokes, loud as a whole slumber party bouncing till the bed breaks.
I go round and round you sometimes, scouting, blundering, seeking a way in, the high boxwood maze I penetrate running lungs bursting toward the fountain of green fire at the heart.
Sometimes you open wide as cathedral doors and yank me inside. Sometimes you slither into me like a snake into its burrow.
Sometimes you march in with a brass band.
Ten years of fitting our bodies together and still they sing wild songs in new keys.
It is more and less than love: timing,
chemistry, magic and will and luck.
One plus one equal one, unknowable except in the moment, not convertible into words, not explicable or philosophically interesting.
But it is. And it is. And it is. Amen.
"What Do Women Want?"
By: Kim Addonizio
I want a red dress.
I want it flimsy and cheap,
I want it too tight, I want to wear it
until someone tears it off me.
I want it sleeveless and backless,
this dress, so no one has to guess
what's underneath.
I want to walk down
the street past Thrifty's and the hardware store
with all those keys glittering in the window,
past Mr. and Mrs. Wong selling day-old donuts in their café,
past the Guerra brothers slinging pigs from the truck and onto the dolly,
hoisting the slick snouts over their shoulders.
I want to walk like I'm the only
woman on earth and I can have my pick.
I want that red dress bad.
I want it to confirm
your worst fears about me,
to show you how little I care about you
or anything except what I want.
When I find it,
I'll pull that garment from its hanger
like I'm choosing a body to carry me into this world,
through the birth-cries and the love-cries too,
and I'll wear it like bones, like skin,
it'll be the goddamned dress they bury me in.
Him: No wonder, the D.A. bears his soul to you...(Note: The D.A. is a reference to the guy I am thinking of dating – actually, honest-to-goodness really dating….more on that at some other time)
Me: Ah darling, but does he? Not the way you do...
There's a fear in his voice a slight tremor......and you and I we confront that fear every friggin day and when we see each other there's a recognition of that in our eyes, an unflinching and we only look away when we have to - is that out of fear? Or just too close, too soon...
And I grow weary of men who think they can read me poetry and then lick me like a penny stamp. I want the rush of it all to come unbidden, unencumbered by thought processes that just drag us down to our human levels. I want my kisses to burn like the flaying of angels wings poised for flights down to the very depths of hell and I want all along to know it...
Like I know you...
Some stuff happened to me and it threw me way off kilter. I was talking to my friend...this is the 'friend' that I seem to want to be more than friends with and together I think we confronted some of the ‘feelings’ between us – how hard it is to stay ‘just’ friends’ when there’s an attraction between you a ‘spark’ but since he is ‘taken’ I don’t want him to cross lines he should not cross...
These are just snippets from those conversations (via e-mail between each other) All of this came in the context of me asking him if there was a 'moment' between us (because of what has happened to me in the past I sometimes can’t even read my own instincts and I want to make sure I am not ‘imagining’ things) and the relationship between us is so honest that I can actually ask him such things and not feel embarrassed or awkward.
*******
Me: "*laughs* so there WAS a moment - I just want to make sure my signals aren't gone completely - see that's what I was trying to tell you last nite - my wiring seems to be crossed anymore...)
Look part of the friggin problem with BOTH OF US is we are somewhat trying to pretend there is no attraction - I mean I know I am attracted to you - I am not trying to speak for you and, I wasn't suggesting you ENJOY restraining yourself at all - I don't enjoy this much either - but we are also both being selfish cause we enjoy each other's company (translation: we are both friggin' nuts)"
Him: “So, what the heck am I suppose to do. Cheer you on or sweep you off your feet? Ahhh”
Me: “I don't want to play games and I don't want to hurt (you or me) - but I don't think it's a good idea to have temptation constantly at your doorstep, do you? I mean she is a long ways away - and yeah talking is nice and so is e-mail (with her) but there is nothing like the human touch....n'est ce pas? *sigh*
I don't know what to tell you - I guess the safe thing to do - that is if you still want me around - is to root me on....then just hunker down and wait for her...otherwise let me go and we can just be glad we got to know each other this much.
I know a year is a long ways away and I am sorry I keep bringing things up that make us cross this bridge (so it's my fault and I need to keep my mouth shut - jesus why can't I just keep my mouth shut?!?!?!?!?!) Oh and for the record - you had me at whassup (LOL) - I mean you have already swept me off my feet silly man....
So he started to send me poetry and we went back and forth for a bit:
Him: “Oh! those pouting lips,
that honey running fount,
bend o'er thy perfumed hips
that i may suck from that scented mouth
that sweet nectar that wine is to my lips.
blonde bearded beast, fragrant flower of the night
spread well those turgid petals to my sight,
entwine me in those musky tendrils tight, but
that i may cat-like lap that soft hooded bud"
Him: "Near the path through the woods I've seen it:
a trail of white candles.
I could find it again, I could follow
oits light deep into shadows.
Didn't I stand there once?
Didn't I choose to go back
down the cleared path, the familiar?
Narcissus, you said. Wasn't this
the flower whose sudden enchantments
led Persephone down into Hades?
You remember the way she was changed
when she came every spring, having seen
the withering branches, the chasms,
and how she had to return there
helplessly, having eaten
the seed of desire. What was is
I saw you were offering me
without meaning to, there in the sunlight,
while the flowers beckoned and shone
in their flickering season?"
Me: “Man I guess I asked for this huh? no wonder she loves you...”
Him: “...to lay you down in a field of tall grass. arching, touching, the sounds of desire. Nothing else matters...the scent, the sight the taste of your skin. I melt into you something fearless in your eyes something careless about your smile something fragile when you hold your breath and when you move, you move right through me fingertips so gently on my skin...”
Me (sending some poetry to him):
Implications of One Plus One
By: Marge Piercy
Sometimes we collide, tectonic plates merging, continents shoving, crumpling down into the molten veins of fire deep in the earth and raising tons of rock into jagged crests of Sierra.
Sometimes your hands drift on me,
milkweed's airy silk, wingtip's feathery caresses,
our lips grazing, a drift of desires gathering like fog over warm water, thickening to rain.
Sometimes we go to it heartily, digging, burrowing, grunting, tossing up covers like loose earth, nosing into the other's flesh with hot nozzles and wallowing there.
Sometimes we are kids making out, silly in the quilt, tickling the xylophone spine, blowing wet jokes, loud as a whole slumber party bouncing till the bed breaks.
I go round and round you sometimes, scouting, blundering, seeking a way in, the high boxwood maze I penetrate running lungs bursting toward the fountain of green fire at the heart.
Sometimes you open wide as cathedral doors and yank me inside. Sometimes you slither into me like a snake into its burrow.
Sometimes you march in with a brass band.
Ten years of fitting our bodies together and still they sing wild songs in new keys.
It is more and less than love: timing,
chemistry, magic and will and luck.
One plus one equal one, unknowable except in the moment, not convertible into words, not explicable or philosophically interesting.
But it is. And it is. And it is. Amen.
"What Do Women Want?"
By: Kim Addonizio
I want a red dress.
I want it flimsy and cheap,
I want it too tight, I want to wear it
until someone tears it off me.
I want it sleeveless and backless,
this dress, so no one has to guess
what's underneath.
I want to walk down
the street past Thrifty's and the hardware store
with all those keys glittering in the window,
past Mr. and Mrs. Wong selling day-old donuts in their café,
past the Guerra brothers slinging pigs from the truck and onto the dolly,
hoisting the slick snouts over their shoulders.
I want to walk like I'm the only
woman on earth and I can have my pick.
I want that red dress bad.
I want it to confirm
your worst fears about me,
to show you how little I care about you
or anything except what I want.
When I find it,
I'll pull that garment from its hanger
like I'm choosing a body to carry me into this world,
through the birth-cries and the love-cries too,
and I'll wear it like bones, like skin,
it'll be the goddamned dress they bury me in.
Him: No wonder, the D.A. bears his soul to you...(Note: The D.A. is a reference to the guy I am thinking of dating – actually, honest-to-goodness really dating….more on that at some other time)
Me: Ah darling, but does he? Not the way you do...
There's a fear in his voice a slight tremor......and you and I we confront that fear every friggin day and when we see each other there's a recognition of that in our eyes, an unflinching and we only look away when we have to - is that out of fear? Or just too close, too soon...
And I grow weary of men who think they can read me poetry and then lick me like a penny stamp. I want the rush of it all to come unbidden, unencumbered by thought processes that just drag us down to our human levels. I want my kisses to burn like the flaying of angels wings poised for flights down to the very depths of hell and I want all along to know it...
Like I know you...
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