crush

poem: urban triptych

1. Oxford Street

    We walked along in silence on that cold, grey morning…
    I stumbled, and thought no one would notice, but you did.
    Your arm went hesitantly around me,
    steadying me,
    without really touching me,
    Your voice composed of casual concern
    I noticed you
    For the first time.

    2. Sitting in the dark watching TV

    We sat in the dark watching TV
    Blaring violence in our
    Eerily lit up faces
    The bowl sat between us
    An oily chaperone
    Our hands reached for popcorn
    And found each other
    Unexpected connections
    Mumbled apologies
    Confused thoughts
    Later you stroked my arm
    A single, fluid motion
    One word… “Stay.”

    3. Launchpad

    A window of opportunity
    A chance nearly missed
    Before it has properly begun

    No time to discover you
    As you should be discovered…
    No time to touch you
    As you should be touched…

    I long for extension
    For truth and honesty behind the wordplay
    I lay my hand alongside your face
    You laugh and take it companionably
    Between your own cumbersome fingers

    You ask me out for drinks
    We talk into the night
    You begin to think you know me…

    … Tell me – what happens next?

    poem: a collection of romantic poems about hands

    // Ships (1998)

    My blue hand reaches
    For your pink one
    Our eyes interlock and I
    Gaze at the mystery of you;
    I almost grasp the key to knowing you.
    I almost understand the suffering I’ve been through
    As a justification for this moment;
    and then you slip away,
    Into the distance of this
    Still, dark night,
    Our contact limited to a chance missed
    For loving you.

    // Masterpiece (1998)

    Paint your smile on me
    You’re my da Vinci, my Van Gogh
    Take me, shape me, into a masterpiece
    I am a neo-classic love child
    The bastard of an oil and canvas copulation
    Deepen my hues
    Shadow my crevasses
    Paint me wild and free

    // Dreamkind (2000)

    You held me
    Wrapped your strong arms around me
    And smiled at me,
    Your gentle sweet contagious smile
    Circled in your embrace,
    I marvelled at how warm I felt
    How safe, how small, how loved
    How proud I was to have you at my side…
    How nice it was to lace your fingers into mine.

    // Your Hands (2001)

    I’m in love with your hands –
    The way you communicate
    Your eyes have never held such secrets
    as the ones that reside in your grasp…
    You touch me, and mysteries are revealed
    My resolve crumbles to dust at my feet
    You have woven your spell around me
    Trapped me with your honey-dripped fingers
    Placed bracelets of restraint around my willing wrists.

    // Hybernate (2003)

    Warmth is…
    Curling up next to you
    A blanket of companionship
    On a wintery mountain night
    Your strong arms around me
    Your crooked half smile
    The deftness of your hands
    The silkiness of your hair
    As it whispers through my fingers
    Like seagrass on the ocean floor.

    poem: centurion / catalyst

    // centurion

    You keep me
    On the edge of my seat;
    Your touch
    Is erotically innocent.
    Your hugs –
    I’m folded into your warm darkness;
    You say nothing,
    Yet your eyes say so much…
    And those lips…
    I wonder what it would be like
    To kiss them?

    // catalyst

    Emotions snowballing from a few words
    Carefully placed on the table cards dealt face up
    And I wouldn’t change a thing even if I could
    You are an Adonis cloaked in urban mundanity
    A reluctant angel – where do you hide your wings
    Sometimes it seems I can almost see them.
    I thought I could touch for one brief moment
    Hold a piece of your bright and shining light
    But I’ve unexpectedly tipped the scales
    Unbalanced the world you carefully created
    Left you unsure and myself invalidated
    I wish I could hold you and look you in the eye
    Hear you tell me that it’s alright, that we still exist
    Within the same space, that nothing’s changed –
    I should have kept you as private obsession.

    poem: first

    You hold yourself precise, aloof
    At a distance, at arm’s length
    Yet I always finding you standing on my edges.

    I notice
    The conspiratorially grey nature of your eyes
    The way you stiffly stand
    Hands jammed
    In pockets deep enough to hold them.

    You smirk,
    Not with condescension,
    But one that says,
    “Come smirk with me.”
    As if a constant battle rages
    Between your reservation and a
    Mischievous grin that seems to lurk beneath.

    A solid head on ungainly shoulders
    A stoop as if uncomfortable with height
    An intriguing mix of youth and manhood
    A boyish face with ageless eyes.

    You’re a person of extremes, it seems
    Loud one minute, quiet the next
    You remind me of a summer storm –
    A flash, a thunderous clap and then
    You’re calm again
    Leaving me to wonder at your depths.