For August

a crow calls out in the early morning
i rise and let the cat inside
the air is frigid
he enters and tells me everything
pacing about
gently bumping his head
against my leg
i boil water
and prepare my tea
then sit on the couch
cradling the hot mug in my hands
the cat rests against me
purrs softly
then louder as he warms
i leave the lights off
it is midmorning
yet no sun reaches beyond the clouds
leaving the room dim
with soft outlines of everything
i feel a tingling of uncertainty
so many questions rise to the surface
of my mind
i close my eyes
and return to august
remembering the humidity
that hung heavy and finally broke
when a rainstorm passed
we sat in it
letting the rain cool us
we were looking at one another
still unsure
still timid
our minds running wild
craving everything
everything
that time passed too quickly
like the humidity that broke
when the rainstorm
rolled in without warning
now the air is frigid
the light dim
with soft shadows everywhere
and i am here
cradling a cup of now tepid tea
and an image of us in the rain
wanting desperately to act
on every desire

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.