the whole of me
and the holes in you(r heart).

i just slip right through,
the whole into the hole,
into the devastation
into the fascination.

and where were you last night?

there's something about your tits in the morning,
perched on the windowsill,
while you drink your tea (cream & sugar),
that makes me want to
scramble eggs with you forever.

w(hole).

you can put mountains
and highways
and lakes
and rivers
and roads between us

but it still manages to
swim
and stir
and swallow me whole.

11:24 pm

let's make this distance physical too
a country, an ocean, and opposite skies
(i'll take the sun, you can have the moon)

'we want to feel love'

my bed
your bed
his bed
our bed
shared bed
all-alone bed

(sleep comes,

in the bed
where his hands
and your hands
moved from here
to here
to there
to my heart
to my mind
across my body
into my soul)

your hair's still on my pillow.

a hallelujah song

i was reading about, thinking about, dreaming about the traveler -- the beautiful one, the forever one, the almost-within-my-reach one. fierce, flawless. wise, willing. lost, found. my pages filled with directions (the paths unknown), my walls filled with maps (to the sea, to the shore), and life's eternal mysteries sprawled out in broken metaphors, and someone else's phrases, and my own interpretations. leaving is easier than staying, staying is harder than going, and my back pocket doesn't mind carrying the weight of a life of yesterdays while i go everywhere and anywhere to know myself and open myself and love myself. this fills me, fuels me, and forgives me in a way a lover never could. i replace pronouns (personals) with places -- he with the spot by the sea, she with the Rhine River, we with love inside a Brazilian bar. and, i indugle in the sway of a city, the pause between traffic lights, and the sun that paints me golden. i want the world to place her hands all over me, i want to seduce the Atlantic, the Pacific, the Mediterranean Sea, teasing tides and chasing waves. i want to climb into salty bedsheets, and kiss the moon, and romance the stars, and know why i'm here and happy and heartbroken and blown away and better off and begging for more. there's nothing else to call this but love.

'wh' questions [acquired between the ages of 2 & 4, accentuated at 22]

what do you want
and where are you going
and who do you want
and who do you love
and how will you know it
and how will you show it
and what will you say
and how will you say it
and where/when will you leave it all behind
and, then, start it back up again

lists.

a writer

a lover

a mother

a traveler 

an explorer

an artist

a friend

a reason.

eat, pray, love:

"both of us deserve better than staying together because we're afraid we'll be destroyed if we don't"

dear 49th parallel,
thank you so, so, so much
for FINALLY
letting me cross you

once upon a time, trey put me in a magazine.

www.seelike.me

august.

sunlight is flooding through the streets,

the August heat is striking, but perhaps not so much as her eyes.

we cross a bridge as the sun is going down.
it's just before dusk,

we're making small talk,

she's pushing hair out of her eyes.

she turns and looks across the sea
"it's so beautiful. i mean, how lucky are we."

woven of dreams and anagrams

one big run-on sentence
seas singing songs
and waves working out words
-- this is living

no hooks cast, no anchors dropped
just me and the sea
(and a place for we)

july.

oh,
let's not talking about july
or the drifting of our eyes.

june.

oh june,
you share your name with her (and him and them)
and so,
when you are smiling at me
it's nothing i haven't seen before
[you only have fuller lips]

i see in you
what was (is) me --
the part of you
that is reckless

through a lens, darkly
you are events unfolding
you are history repeating itself,
a future recurring dream

sharing in something
that isn't really love
we are a part of the same madness
[we seek the same phrases]

the drifter.

you left me with only vowels
just u and i
with nothing in between

just u and i
parts of the alphabet
with nothing to grab onto

no dangling modifiers
to stretch out their limbs
not even a preposition
to bring us together

i wanted to give you words like love and hold me
but you didn't want my fragmented phrases

'we are broken metaphors, heavy with bad grammar'
(was all you had to say)

all i ever asked for was a subject and a verb.

you are now a poem
i've put you in writing
you exist, you exist!
(on this page, in my mind, in my heart, in my world)

how will i dress you up?
an adjective here,
a hyperbole there?
no.
you don't need exaggerations,
you just simply are.

your end of august.

changing seasons, changing tides, changing hearts.

autumn.

Night is falling.
The bruised sky extends,
grabbing summer light.
Her voice is soft,
she's early.

giving thanks.

blessed be
blessed we
blessed me

playing house.

"i don't plan on settling for anything less than my kind of perfect" - francesca

distance

you and i
are sitting on opposite sides of this place (the world)
i can count the hours
and the minutes
between us

but it's more than that.

wanderlust-ing.

what are you doing this year? more importantly, who are you doing it with? there's a bunch of pronouns floating outside my door, becoming their very own sea of letters. lawrence's thoughts begin to mingle with them. e.e. cummings tells them to throw away their question marks. all of a sudden, we are an ocean of 'romaniticism'. i smell stardust. i see clouds.

untitled.

so this is what losing vision(s) is like.

the ocean, the ocean, the ocean and i,
we don't have time
for your tidal wave(s) of insecurity,
your tide pool(s) of tears,

you need new words
you need new ways
'cause i'm out to sea
and you're in the distance
and i'll be just fine.

summer's child.

pale child of summer,
missing summer sun,
but mostly, the light.

truths become folded into pockets,
tucked under blankets,
lost in the dark days,
hushed by rainfall.

no more love letters,
just debates with a map,
which route to take,
which sea to fall into
(catch me).

dreamers.

moon walkers,

star chasers,

cloud drifters,

foreign misters,

northern narine,

eastern elle,

southern seas,

western swells,

border dancers,

land seekers,

ocean lovers,

heart keepers,

don't you go passing (me) by.

thoughts on a motorbike (indonesia)

calm, shimmering colors.
and then -- to shore!
rolling in like a tidal wave, a sea of motors and hearts

-- somewhere we're lost in it all.

balinese beauty.

adjectives can't describe it
verbs won't provoke it
thoughts won't threaten it

cuz we are the girls with the alabaster skin
the yet-to-be wanderers

your not-so-love-poems
don't spin us 'round

we will be the ones to leave you
(with heavy hearts).

the day was unusual (peculiar even).
the words were unfamiliar,
with a new set of vowels
     u
        i
           y?

a foreign affair

CIRCLE, SPHERE, WORLD
YOUR 360 DEGREES
AND MY 21 YEARS
COULD BE SO DREAMY

love is an affair.

fondly,

i think of the moments that

i pulled your hair and

tattooed myself into your bed sheets.

a series of un(fortunate) events.

i woke up,

spit you out,

washed you off,

and wondered --

-- where the fuck is all the devastation?

accidents happen

your own tragedy just brought down the moon.

it landed in the ocean.

you are on the pavement.

and they just continued on,

like they didn't even miss the stars.

too many blogs under too many accounts

bringing it all back into one

oceans-always.blogspot.com is back home.


*a storage space for rough draft works & random works