Ah this familiar deflation,

the air compressed – the chest crushed inwards.

Ah this free fall into the abyss,

the tightening and constriction – the curtains close.

The lights go dim and I land on the hard deck of a sunken ship..

..gnarled with barnacles on my sandy castle floor.

Bring up the barricades, let no one in!

I wasn’t here. (a comfort if not to know I was alone)

Bring on the sharp objects and the elements of drowning!

I float to the bottom, weighed down by the armor of unmet anticipations.

So quiet and still, the faint echo of laughter in the distant corridors.

I question the point of being up there in the open.

I question the point of being up there grazing on poison.

I question the point of being up there in potential exposure..

..to that which gives no answers, clogs the valves and stops the breath,

pulls me in and flings me to the scavengers.

This bitter taste I’ve grown accustom.

Salty tongue to cure the raw marinating taste of rejection.

Or be it the other side of someone’s procrastinations -

to whistle away the days of precious taking.

I cannot litter my loves away.

I cannot toss them, like once worn socks, towards a corner to migrate

under the bed - mingling with dust bunnies and an old penny.

When every day is a chest of possible treasures –

what could take precedence over that rare moment of connection?

I find my thoughts migrate to you..

..even as I read.

The words on the page become your face, your eyes,

the moment before you speak.

I find my thoughts migrate to you..

.. like traveling to a familiar place.

And in that journey – there is no ache, no need,

no feeling of incomplete.

As if in our busy strides we accidentally landed side by side.

I find my thoughts migrate to you..

..and strangely I feel patient and trust the unrevealed steps.

Strangely my heart can flutter while my feet still touch the ground,

walking forward on my path – seeing you on yours.

A lightly woven parallel set of seams

seamlessly strolling into each other.

And where we are headed in some convergence or crisscross pattern –

does not matter. 

Only this chiasm here,

the gift of where our vision meets in the present.

Spinning round and round until the thoughts spill out.

Lux up, I went alone tonight.  The place was bump’n.

Out at the back fire, up late with smokes and laughs.

Sat and hung with a Lux regular, a friend that’s quite funny,

with his whipped sarcasm - that with a twist of truth serves a slice of belittlement.

Some inward commentary and frequently outloud I observe.

Strange men, some awkward and wordy and other’s a bit drunken

who utter in unintelligible soundbites close to my shoulder.

Circus ladies and loud squakers and a girl, with her pack, turning 21.

This piggy backed on earlier this evening

when charm and intellect took me out to eat Fo

(a reminder of home, nights in San Jo).

And I made an adventure out of a ladle and sticks

with noodles and chicken and broth.

His words like a rope stretched out to me. 

The tone - a soft collaboration of steady beats to rest my head between.

And eyes that were the kindest, most sweetly placed on a slightly bearded face.

We rondavue again ‘not too soon’..

such a refreshing turn from the quick dive into a pair of pants.

First level: to navigate each other’s minds and facial expressions.

What a beautiful dance across Fo, eyes in a tango, at a small table, furtile conversation. 

As the bar lets out and I wait over 45 for a cab,

I am comforted in reflection of this man of towering stature and vast insights.

And a demeanor that says it’s worth it to let things..  just..  simply..  fall… into place.

..reflections from a single woman, autumn, ott-8!

The pool is full of strange fish. 

Most of them are not sure what direction they are swimming,

some are hardly moving and if there was glass they’d be bumping up against it.

I have swam with the most flashy.. hotties of the bunch,

and being a flashy one myself, I don’t have trouble finding all kinds…

but ONE.  Is it out of season?  A lost breed?

That is the one who will go upstream with me.

Do I need to have “lowered expectations” as that familiar SNL song goes?

Is it time to let go of the idea of being attracted to him?  

Shall I say that good looks and charm.. sex appeal and intellect are overrated?

And hook up a new hard drive built for hard to look-ats, hardly much goin on in there’s,

and who the fuck cares? .. if he’ll stick around,

be my husband and father to my exceedingly bright and charming offspring?

My good friend, ‘Jane’, a woman now in her 40s.. dated the best of ‘em, had a kid,

raised it alone.. and in her 30s met ‘Bob’.. a man 12 yrs older, 

and as far as I can see he’s an old, fat, unattractive and uninteresting man.

But he holds down the fort, and gave her children and stability and she is… happy.

Is there a lesson in that for me?  

Or is it really a high rolling gambling of timing.

When to say when..  enough is enough?

I keep thinking I’d have it easier if I was just a bit more plain or ugly.

I find myself being picked off the shelf like some sight seeing adventure

for deep sea diving to the artist’s sandy floor.

Now shall such a treasure be observed and not taken?

Where is my pirate now?

I find myself on personal postings again.. sifting through the odd and the lonely,

the Joe Shmos, the single dads and the hornies. 

How can this be so tricky?   

My friend asks me - “Are you sure your ready?”

- As if the universe has not yet made a determination in my case.

“Oh yes,” I reply.  

And resume the searching.. to find someone..

who’s searching, like me, for someone like..

I already found, but this time.. for me.

So I visit you again, my old friend.

The one that brought me to life, stirred my passionate self

and planted a paradise on my heart’s shelf.

I see you sitting here in my bed,  as you did once long ago,

offering me a promise with a smile, a twinkle in your eye and a ring in your hand.

My heart quivered never before to have felt such

an inside melting and explosion all at once,

to which later became a reminder of  things repeatedly broken.

Slam.. the glass and shattering.

Fast on the skull – a fist to send my head reeling.

Over and above - you tossed me round and pinned me down,

hands scrambling to confuse and grab my face as I bat the arms that try to restrain me. Over and over I do love you.. over and over you come at me with a twist and a bite,

a kick and a pillow to smother me. 

My heart beats fast and I just try to survive the moment til the storm subsides.

“Oh why?” I asked inside.  What could I do when the tornado hit?

I clicked my red heels to go home, but I don’t visit Kansas anymore. 

I left the shock and awe for some other Dorothy to someday take on.

But inside the flashbacks come on occasion. 

And somehow despite it all I find myself reaching out for a stolen dream,

like the child that didn’t see it coming and still needs to feel he, or she, was loved.

I too wait at the gate of wounds that reawaken – a bittersweet collection of moments,

a kneeling looking up through the beam of light through which I first saw you.