For the blisters on my feet

For the ache in my heart

For the cold sweats and nightmares

For the weight of anxiety

For the bruises and strains

For the time away from you

I just want to be able to say

It was worth it

I do not owe you an explanation:
for my fear, for my anger, for my nightmares.
I do not owe you
a reason for my reactions,
or excuses for any of my emotions.
I do not owe you words or ideas or affection,
but mostly, I do not owe you these things
as payment, like promises, or as penance.
I am not obligated to earn your trust;
I am not a debtor, but an owner,
not an achievement, but an actor.
I do not owe you an explanation
and if the blaze of my anger, and the ice
of my fear, and the heat of my sex
do not convince you of this,
then I lose nothing in losing you.

When I look at you
Something inside of me churns,
Something wet and heavy and wild;
What is it that I want? What is it
That I will give up so much to experience?
It is a losing battle, I will never
Win or be won: but for now, the journey,
The long slow march to the field,
The heartbeat as cadence and the slow sun
Sliding across tamped-down forest paths:
For now this is the solution, the respite,
A clear break in the conscious acceptance
Of what my life is allowed to be.

i feel drunk.
somewhere inside my blood
is the secret:
part heat, part motion, part lust,
licentiousness and the desire to consume.
your body, laid out
in front of me like a painting, like a platter,
is bright and beautiful:
i am drawn towards the light of your skin,
the curve of your hips, the depth
of your bright blue eyes.
my hands on you,
my mouth searching over you,
my soul inclined towards
the steep climb of your heart:
even still, i cannot attain.
i feel drunk, i would like to evaporate.

Siren, catcall, haunting melody:

alternatively mocking or adoring,

the word love on your lips

is a game, a promise, a joke, a curse.

Melodic or not, I am necessarily

harmonic, a counterpoint, a secondary voice

charmed by leadership, plagued by ego.

When I think about the words

And what they mean, they are perhaps

Not so terrifying as they might have been--

Not as constraining, not as defining.

The words are only a spoken imitation, after all,

Of what my body is already articulating:

Desire, attraction, approval, focus. 

Mistakes make me strong, make me

Surer-footed on the next incline;

after this it seems likely 

I will never fall again. 

forget the bread and the wine,
you are my meat and my mead, something older,
something primal and deep and filling.
forget art-- you are an artist
in the designs you trace on my skin, forget music--
your voice is the only melody i want to hear.
i leave cathedrals for the sanctity
of your cool, bright bed:
i fail catechism because the only doctrine i know
for sure is you, you are the only answer
i never question.
in your presence i learn grace, find temperance,
let you blow breath into parts of me
dormant since childhood: imagination, passion,
even innocence, since there is something
young and peaceable in believing
that you will not leave me to a foreign crucifixion.
you are my devotion, a ceaseless repetition:
i believe. i believe. i believe.

words unwinding slowly, haltingly, from
hands that don't want to give them up:
grief uncoiling around the heart,
loosing the strictures of silence and stoicism.
your life rises in front of me, 90 years
of work and family and God and love,
family and children and
the frontlines of World War II, the ocean
dashing up against your vessel to push you
back from the coastline, the gunfire, the inevitable.
two small sons, brown hair and blue eyes,
smart and curious and capable
of following the intricacies of your fingers
as you explained short-wave radio, radar, antenna
(they become an engineer and a pilot).
a wife who loves you, cares for you, cooks for you,
plays dominoes at the kitchen table with you,
who leaves you late in life, peacefully.
i imagine you in all the geographies of your life,
corn fields of ohio, tall grey mountains of washington,
the sun and wind of chicago.
in a life so full of places, and experiences, and people,
you are outlasted by your legacy:
your gentle humor, your kind smile, your love.
i am sad to give you up, but glad to have known you this well.