Filed under: poems | Tags: blind dates, Craigslist, dusk, God, India, lost poems, love, rivers
God Bless the blind dates
middle-aged couples go on
after meeting on Craigslist
and God Bless children on bicycles
and dusk
and tow trucks
she laughs and says,
“I think I should,
but I don’t.”
there is a noise of cars,
a shift of gears,
he says he’s Jewish,
Polish,
and tells her about
the Diaspora.
God Bless jet contrails,
roads that form giant horseshoes,
curving in from the horizon and back out again,
like a river in the hills,
like the Meuse,
the Missouri.
he says “Mumbai,”
he says he’s a teacher,
she has kids,
and she gestures with
surgical precision
upon every word.
God Bless
electrical poles,
workers just getting off the job,
filing out the automatic doors,
lighting up a cigarette
he went pre-med in college,
she studied biology and hopes to become a doctor.
his gray polo shirt seems warm enough for him
even as the sun goes down,
and even as the wind picks up.
God Bless elderly drivers,
and those who honk at them.
the middle-aged blind-daters get up,
and cross the parking lot
to another coffee shop
on the other side from the one I’m at
and my source of
entertainment vanishes.
I push the end of my pen,
which retracts,
click-clack,
and a crow pecks at the crumbs of a cookie on the pavement,
click-clack.
God Bless the blind-daters.
may they become blind lovers.
Filed under: poems | Tags: AJB, Egypt, Europe, love, oceans, reading, Rumi, travel, words
I’ve been thinking about you,
mostly.
Your eyes,
your lips, your neck, your voice,
your hands(!!!),
your beautiful, wonderful little body!,
your heart…
how much I want to sit in bed with you, kiss you…
read with you. Read to you.
Listen to you read to me.
Sit across a table from you.
Share you with the world.
Eat you out…
create (not make) love, force it into existence
through the friction of our bodies
moving against each other under the covers…
thinking about Oregon, thinking about traveling,
thinking about Rumi,
and my poetry, and how much I love your writing and your art,
and acting,
and how we should start a band,
and all the songs I’d want to sing with you,
and all the tattoos I want to get, and the names of our children…
and I know love is a transient and fickle thing
but I feel the strength of you
pounding out a rhythm beneath the pounding of my heart
and in the luminescent bodies of the words I never have to say when you’re near
and the thoughts I think
that I know you think too…
And.
I want to rub my feet against yours in the waters of all the oceans in the world.
Come back to me.
We can go to the beach.
We can plan a trip to Europe.
We can go to Italy, to Greece, to Spain (for you),
to Austria, to France, to England (for me),
to Egypt (for us both).
We can go anywhere
or nowhere
and be everything and nothing and be each other
and live in each other’s pockets
and blow the candles out and in the dark pretend we don’t exist at all.
We can go. We can not. We can.
Whatever it is — we can.
Love love love
love love love love,
Me.
