Tag Archives: desire

The Answer

Maybe love isn’t the answer
after all
to the question of happiness
which was never part of the plan
when the cells
that would become us
were dividing into our ancestors
who never knew how easy
life would be in the future
with sharp tools and wheels
and gods
we are no longer required
to believe in or praise
for giving us a desire for love
that many of us will never find
so it seems like a good idea
to bury our hearts
in a mass grave dug
with a mass-produced shovel
and seek unconditional devotion
in the divine and perfect form
of cat or dog.










Mad Love

This is what you want.
This is what you hope for
This is what you’ve never had.
You want love to mean necessity
no matter what.
You want love to mean
whatever it takes.
You want love
to be waiting up for you
longing for you
searching for you
carving out a place for you
dying for a moment with you—
sometimes you want love to say
just a minute
to everything but you—
who would give life and limb
to hold such passion in your arms—
to return it
breathe it
swallow it
become it—
this is what you want
on a night like this
when everything you have to give
is contained inside you
waiting to be wanted
and consumed—
all of it going
to such terrible waste.







“Lady of Shalott” John William Waterhouse, 1888

First Encounter

how the mind
finds as much
in memory
as it does
in the infinite hope
of daydreams—

as it is
to imagine
what’s to come,
what encounters
we have
to look
forward to—

it’s the
of my navel
a cup
for your pleasure
that makes me
smile and pause—

and I stop
whatever it is
that needs
to be done
so I can slip
beneath you
once again
when I close my eyes.






Duane Michals, 1969 “The Young Girl’s Dream”

Little Earthquakes

has no power
in the night
when your need
for him becomes
a tremor
you cannot calm—
and throughout
the dark hours
little earthquakes
disrupt your sleep
even though
he’s professed to you
an equal depth
of feeling—
but there is no magic
that can turn
your body into hers
when she wakes up
in the circle
of his arms.





Photo by Deanna Morae


In the Library 


In the library
I stand between
books stacked in
alphabetical order
to peek at the
picture of you
that traveled up
to a satellite
and then back down
to land in my pocket
near the center
of my gravity
which seems to be
weakened by
your grin and
state of undress
which causes me
to smile and burn
because you are
standing there
so easy to read.