CJP's

"gettin in trouble is what we do, its what we're about..." ~ A Wise Old Poet Of Whom I Adore Mostly And Love Mostly But Sometimes Try To Massacre

Part I. in which Isak worries

I remember how we began, you were both wind and shore
always pushing me towards you and keeping me at bay
until i could find the strength in one tidal rush
to mingle us forever. But even floods will recede,
your sand could absorb me, pull me below the surface
and send me back through underground streams
to the lonely ocean's loveless starfish arms.
i never wanted to define you, just fill your empty spaces
the way you fill mine. show me where you are still empty
so that i can understand, if not fill. Am i inadequate?
I believed myself invited, but I've always feared this caper
wasn't meant for me. A dangling teasing ploy of the gods
to prove me unworthy. An insecurity it's true,
but an emotion nevertheless. Lets trade acceptances
show our true colors, just for a moment, without judgment

Part II. in which Sara responds

The ocean, waves. A good metaphor for you.
Water always made me feel clean again, as you do.
A metaphor for me? A horse perhaps. Not wild,
or untamed. Just unbridled. Unreigned. My choice
to remain here. I've heard "the grass is always greener"
That's why I keep this pile of old lawn clippings.
I taste them now and then. Grind them in my teeth
and smooth them over my tongue, then spit them out.
The way a chewed mint leaf converts tap water
into a mountain spring, almost painfully refreshing
Not that i think of you as tap water, no. No metaphor
is perfect. As I am not. I want you to see merely this:
I'm here at your side. I wont be leaving. I know what's
out there, and I see it for what it is. A boundless prairie,
yes. But too open. Too wide. Too spacious. What good
is it to me? We dont need fences or walls. You are not
safer, or closer, or easier, or lesser, You are just You.
And that Youness is what makes Me choose We. We are the
magnetic pulling of the moon and the earth. Cosmic
knitting, invisible threads, together We constellate the sky

slam this muthafucka
into my damn fist

roll back indeed!
$8.87 for a pair of pants
and 24 rolls of TP

i hope your damn questing
comes back to haunt you
when you're old

i hope you feel guilty
and regret this

i hope you never

ever

recover

(jerk)

(fuck)

(SLAM!)

i'd wrap my hands in wool blankets
to keep you from seeing them shake

we sat indian style in the farthest
corner of the lawn (by the shrub)

you liked handheld pastries heated
in a microwave or toaster oven

i liked watching you eat them and
i pretended they were grenades

i pictured you exploding in front
of me like a marshmallow

sweet marshmallowy guts
all up in my face and hair

it never bothered me: this
contradiction of love and hate

the emotions somehow felt the same.
like us, kiddo. like us.

There are those who feel the guilt of snooping.
I've always felt the freedom to find
what was hidden.

whispers hidden in the bathroom cabinet
affections slipped into a pocket
teardrops in a drawer.

I wasn't prying really.
I needed to know.
I needed to see the mark I'd left.

Silent and secret
hidden and honest
earnest and everpresent

you had a way with words i never suspected.
i believed you unruffled and even
rock ice stone

the expanse nearly killed us both