CURRENTLY EXPERIENCING

I am stronger than I think, they say, I know I am too gentle to live in a pack of wolves but I feel brave, brave like the rhino hunters.
That is why we search for a great love of the lives and to be loved.
We search another, or few, to share our laughter with.
We search for love that we do not need to compete to, and be loved for what little we have to give.
A love that won't imprison us in walls of a relationship but encourage us to keep discovering the secrets of the world and inner self in hopes of one day we'll understand.
To hear the silences of the vase before it hits the ground and of belts when they are not striking the naughty children.
To sleep together every night like hibernating reptiles.
A love that when we are alone, it is simple.
That we can tell the winter of our summer's adventures.
Laughs in the middle of the kisses.
That traditionally terrifying forever isn't terrifying.

FAKE EMPIRE

I wish I could dig me a hole. Six feet under-vertical-kinda hole. A hole that will be sound proof, and once I play the music, it will become it. I'll become the harmony of the melody, music notes will cover the hole. But no body will know of its existence, no body will ever know I was/am there.

The walls will be of earth. Heavy and dark. The smell of life and secrets. Roots of the big big tree will stick out, tickling me sometimes. I like the symmetry of this world. How there is a whole tree above the ground  growing taller, stronger, stretching to receive the Sun, hug the light, take it all with its brunches. Containing pigment that will translate into color on the waking of the world come the spring time. And how that color will slowly fade until it reached copper red only to turn into golden. That is the end, it achieved all the purpose for the birds, for the lovers and girls and boys who'd come to engrave their name, leave a mark of their existence too in its bole, then it will just fall down. So graciously, elegantly, quietly, visible to only those who slow down, pay attention, listen. I even wouldn't know in that whole of mine.

And there is a whole tree underneath the land that we find it so unforgiving to our knees and too hard for our feet. A whole inter-veined web of a structure built to support life and take only what it needs from the earth that is borrowed from our children.Internal, hidden parts giving life and beauty to the external. I also like how our bodies look almost perfect in their symmetry. Left is the same to the right, skin deep. But no two lungs are the same, there is no heart on the other side while underneath it is just a mess of systems. We forget about that, like we forget to look at the moon, and the face of our spouse because we are too preoccupied.

I like roots too. Of the tree, of the family, of a home, of a history of two life partners. When you start building something from scratch, an apple pie, or our dream house, its when the memories begin and life continues in the forward direction. Those same memories will look something like the under-tree. Hidden, colorless and that strong. They'll have to kill you to take that away from you, rip your heart out.

I'd go into that hole of mine where there is no Time, nothing ages- Sun would not have that affect on it. There are no paradox of choices. There is where will I go to write without windows and outside wonders and pains, and Facebooks and mobile phones to distract  me. Where I'll just go to think about symmetry, roots, atoms, institutions of our relationships, all the things we take for granted, of all those that are long gone before we came to be here, all the gallons of mothers' milk,all the novels that contain the wisdom of those precious moments our lives are made of. How explanatory they are in their words across tree pages, staying there forever now from the moment they were scribbled. Yes we all have them moments but those who do not stop to listen to their body, read them from those books, they cannot recognize them. It is the same when you cannot see something even if you are looking at it, because you do not know the word for it.

In that hole, I'll know all the words. I'd call myself Alice but I won't drink the potion, I would not want to go further down than this. This peace.

I USED TO DO THIS AS A CHILD

SEX STRIPPED OF ITS POETRY

'Dear Collector: We hate you. Sex losses all its power and magic when it becomes explicit, mechanical, overdone, when it becomes a mechanistic obsession. It becomes a bore. You have taught us more than anyone I know how wrong it is not to mix it with emotion, hunger, desire, lust, whims, caprices, personal ties, rhythms, intensities.

You do not know what you are missing by you microscopic examination of sexual activity to the exclusion of aspects which are the fuel that ignites it. Intellectual, imaginative, romantic, emotional. This is what gives sex its surprising textures, its subtle transformations, its aphrodisiac elements. You are shrinking your world of sensations. You are withering it, starving it, draining its blood.

If you nourished your sexual life with all the excitements and adventures which love injects into sensuality, you would be the most potent man in the world. The source of sexual power is curiosity, passion. You are watching its little flame die of asphyxiation. Sex does not thrive on monotony. Without feeling, inventions, moods, no surprises in bed. Sex must be mixed with tears, laughter, words, promises, scenes, jealousy, envy, all the spices of fear, foreign travel, new faces, novels, stories, dreams, fantasies, music, dancing, opium, wine.

How much do you lose by this periscope at the tip of your sex, when you could enjoy a harem of distinct and never-repeated wonders? No two hairs alike, but you will not let us waste words on a description of hair; no two odors, but if we expand on this you cry Cut the Poetry. No two skins with the same texture, and never the same light, temperature, shadows, never the same gesture, for a lover, when he is aroused by true love, can run the gamut of centuries of love lore. What a range, what changes of age, what variations of maturity and innocence, perversity and art...

We have set around for hours and wondered how you look. If you have closed your senses upon silk, light, color, odor, character, temperament, you must be by now completely shriveled up. There are so many minor senses, all running like tributaries into the mainstream of sex, nourishing it. Only the untied bet of sex and heart together can create ecstasy.'

-Anais  Nin-

DAYS TO COME

You must know the song, it goes something...and then: 'where you invest your love, you invest your life'. And  if I do keep on investing in you, in us, I'd be the wealthiest girl in the whole wide world. You make me so happy, I need some doing of a calm down party. Roll me one, you do it so well. You do so many things well. Seeing you sustain this heart of my that I so closely kept a watch on, makes my mind ache on how you will be holding me. My all body yearns for your touch. My lips are in need of your lips.

We are entrusted  a life, and honey, that is when the legends begin. All the paths are irrelevant as long as we get there. Let there be rough ones too. I want to walk in your darkness, become it, if that is where you want to stay. I want to know every pitch of your voice.

We are going to run as if we took something, and then just collapse into each other. I'll like it, I'll love it, I'll want more of it. You'll give me all of it. And I'll give you life. Turning golden over the grey grounds, above the blue seas. Nothing can stop us. The scene is ours, a place in the Sun.

The fact that we both don't forgive, oh the synchronized freedom we are going to indulge into. Moving the motion baby. I love only the things death cannot touch, because I cannot stand losing and being left. But we are treat to death. We are not even scared, no! Inner most magic. Eternal sunshine all year around.

I have to go to the sea now where I'll feel closer to you.

SLEEPING ALONE

Ascending sun, shining, underneath which I try to get by, daily choosing paths of fear or of love. The darkness comes-what a foe! Same patch of sky. Then it gets me, how something so beautiful could be so lonely. A moon, underneath which I want to spend every night with lover. How when alone I am calling to morning light to come and how every night I'll spend with him will be too damn short. How every high has its low. That's only fair, and I'm OK with that.

As the earth has its Sun and Moon, my life is a  two way street too. Sometimes I am walking the wrong way on the one way road, sometimes I am crying and looking up for a sign when at the crossword, yet now, there is one direction I am heading to wearing my heart on the outside.

I don't fear reality no more for now I am dreaming a two-hearted dream underneath two Suns. I told myself it was good, I believe him. And every time I kiss the ring, I know his finger itches where it bore its mark deep into the skin.

He's my own, I can call him darling now.

Loosing myself in the world full of you.