Back in action!

The last week has gone like this: Thursday was a frenzy of cleaning and yoga and going to a Bulgarian gypsy-punk bar in Manhattan. Friday involved renting a car for the first time, driving to Jersey to meet a friend’s baby (I’m the faux-uncle), and seeing friends. Saturday, the Fellow and I drove out to Pennsylvania for a wedding and lovely weekend; there was a post-wedding brunch on Sunday, followed by a mad dash back to NYC for the Pride parade. Monday we relaxed until I had to go into work for the afternoon, and he left yesterday (during which I also caught up on all my work stuff). So just now, I am finally slowing down enough to write and get back on the web. I hope you all missed me. :)

(The tone of my poems over the next several days will, I think, be sappy love stuff. Sorry.)

This is tangentially for the We Write Poems prompt of “calling something by another name”; I think the theme is pretty obvious and has been done to death, and I’ve done some similar pieces myself, but there it is. I need to get a Reverie up today, and then circle through all the blogs; hopefully it will be a nice slow evening, so that I’ll have time. Here’s to muscling forward!


Sometimes, when you are sleeping, I take the long
bow arm you have draped across my chest and press it

deep into the crook where my shoulder meets my neck;
and I clasp your wrist with my wrists, letting your heat

convect into mine; and I bury the front of my face
behind your left ear. The thin beads of sweat scaling

your temple and the dew on the scarp of your lip
taste different; and something is baking in the labyrinth

hidden beneath your hair. I want to know the flavor and
aroma of everything you have to offer in the most secret

hours of the night; this must be what it’s like to make
snow angels in the fizz of summer; this must be

what it’s like to drink firewater on the ashen
surface of the moon.

2 thoughts on “Perfume

  1. Irene says:

    Oh so tender. The conclusion is fantastic.( Btw lots of themes are done to death…we’re already in the recycling bin but thankfully poems are not.)

  2. barbara_ says:

    Sometimes you wonder how anything is ever said for the first time. Sometimes it doesn’t matter. I love how you’ve said it.

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