Heather, her heat
pure theater, pretends
she’s in throes but I know
better whether Heather is really
there or not.
© Chagall 2016
Tag Archive: Chicheme
Shirt out
a lot o’rolls
tucked in
different but better
rolls go away
now just a matter of
contour
Chagall 2016
You keep seeing me from the outside in
I think that’s good
she said
Up to a point I’m guessing
then it demands
deeper dives
A roil – yes there must be
one of those – a tussle
some physical fabrication
Two bodies meshed – or is it fused?
I think it’s just sliding
gliding really
Chagall 2016
There is no day
for this is timeless
light at an angle
setting the stage
for me and you
The sun just beyond
the outskirts of the dome
casts a gold peach shine
that bakes us warm
I stand observed and seen
apart from any movement
of moments, even they
freeze
So still
one can hear
oneself breathe
one’s own breath
in the space of intervals
there’s lifetime
Let’s wait a beat
let’s bounce about
so ably we abound
round bottomed and bare
Chagall 2015
I’m hurt and insulted that you find me immature
I proclaimed, proceeding to play mini-bongos
on her navel with the pads of my index fingers,
intrigued by her acoustic qualities.
Chagall 2015
It’s a two-player game
and the rules – she said – are few
Existentialists make it true,
find at least one who does
While universalists search
for the one who doesn’t
I kissed her goodbye, expressionless
humbled, ignorant
Propositionally speaking,
this was bound to happen,
proof by exhaustion
But man do I miss her cooking!
Chagall 2015
She asked if I thought I could fix it
I said sure, your Hotspot is off
A simple hand gesture to toggle that button
Should make all your blues go away
Olé!
Chagall 2015
I am a mob of one on the flash
A pulmonary conviction
The membrane of your choice
I am the Matador, Sinewy Eros
Entangling horns as they come
Nearer to thee than the moon
Dear Gaia
I am millions of deities rolled into One
A lozenge, a salve, a breath mint
As a harpsichord I traipse the body luscious
The perennial you plant
Every year hoping
Ground-breaking rip-roaring shattered
Glass
Jagged shards, Green clovers, Pink moons
Lucky charms and amulets
Around your ankles and thighs
Tigers and bears
Oh my!
Chagall 2015
Just jiggle your eyes up and down
like you swing when you sway when you dance
Bilingual so cunning we lip-sync till vibration booms flows
like monsoons in a trance
butterflies flutter by
hmm . . . wonder why?
rub-a-dub scrub in the tub small circular backstrokes in front
more nimble then able my horses they fly, saddle one babe bubble-up.
Chagall 2015
The cut from your cheekbone
to your chinline down your neck
lies the flat plain above your cleavage
where it separates in two perfectly
aerodynamic curves that cannot be comprehended
on graph paper or by formulae
Chagall 2015
