For Eszter

trees touch the early blue of dawn.
these old fingers,
bent from life and seasons
of joy and work,
are still moved
by pleasures of youth.
i enter
and wake you softly.
you, still wrapped in sleep,
warm, with
gentle sighs that tell of dreams,
of worlds not understood here,
here in waking-life.
your body, perfect to me,
extends and stretches,
exposing warm flesh.
it unfolds
and i explore your figure
as if for the first time.
i breathe in your sleep,
tracing your being
with my lips.
my body presses against yours,
my erection
reveals my thirst.
in continuous lines
i draw you with my fingertips
so as to hold this forever.

day hadn’t yet arrived.
the stars, still brilliant, 
shine in full force,
burn as if lost in the night,
ever convinced by eternity. 
and what is it, “eternity”?
are we all lost in it, in forever?
had i been told it was night i might have been fooled.
had i not known,
not understood as i assume i understand. 
what is day?
what is arriving?
in the early dawn dreams pull,
they tug,
inviting me back.
i feel so small.
in pre-dawn light a cloud form emerges.
seamless.
i watch to understand the notion of fleeting,
the notion of ephemerality. 
what is eternity?
watching reflections,
watching beings,
mostly silhouettes, 
watching for hints of life,
of desire once removed.
waiting for consciousness –
to consume intention –
to devour “i will”
i will 
as in i will not—
i will not disappear into reflections less real than the reflected. 
early sun bathes all in gold;
the shadows that entice in darkness
vanish when touched by sun.
what is forever?
a span of measured time;
measuring the shift from hunger to fullness –
fullness to hunger to fullness. 
nights of satiated lust;
mornings eyes red from battling sleep.
pushing needs aside to feed the other spit and body.
measured time from erection,
endlessly possible,
to none —
to impossible none. 
i am convinced by eternity. 
the clouds are now clouds,
shapes are revealed.
i can see what is holding life.
holding. 
life.
the sky a blue i swear i’ve not known. 
i say aloud; “i have not understood this.”
clouds just breaths of pink;
strips of flesh
suspended and disappearing. 
i yell into the morning; “i have misunderstood eternity!”
and this is forever. 

For Rene

we eat
butter and marmalade
on toast
fresh from the oven.
i was told
heaven
is a destination
for the faithful,
but i lack faith
and always wondered
about those who believe
in the unseen.
if it isn’t here
and now,
if it isn’t fresh toast
and your attention given
to spreading butter
and marmalade
so perfectly,
i’m not sure where else
it could be.
i have faith in this,
i can reach out
and touch it.
if heaven is this place,
right here and now,
and is as finite
as one piece of
toast,
i’ll take it
and consume it,
salty butter
and sweet marmalade
and all.

you peel away
the layers of an onion
the dried skin
flaking to
the ground
separating the folds
down to the off-white flesh
to the heart of it
watching you in exploration
as you uncover
each brittle layer
to watch you open
to watch you reveal

the winter solstice
is still days away
it gets dark so early
this time of year
i light the wood stove
before dusk
summer teases us
days stretch
on and on
and we fall asleep to
crickets and humidity
now the nights are long
they are full of
animal urges
and cravings
i imagine us
two naked bodies
intertwined on the floor
giving way to our
primordial needs
our flesh
illuminated only by the
flickering flame of the
wood stove

the reflection of the sky
in a pool on a barren
field.
is it possible to hold both?
the sun sets in one
and seems to rise
in the other.
this is perspective;
choosing to
turn murky water
into a looking glass,
a portal.