Basilect

She says one thing but you hear another. Or maybe you choose to hear nothing at all. Everything is as it seems if you'd only pay attention. There's a whole group of people who live on the fringe because no one will let them in. What's the benefit of this ignorance? What do you gain from their losses? No respect, no dignity, no love. No way to live at all.

Pesade

Rear. Rearing a child. Rearing one's ugly side. Rearing into someone else. Hearing a child. Hearing one's ugly side. Hearing someone else. Most of the time it's fear that makes her act the way she does. We're all afraid of something. I'm afraid of her.

Pastiche

The sincerest form of flattery rarely got me anywhere. This chip is on my shoulder. This responsibility is mine alone to bear. Sometimes a certain little witch emerges to taunt me. She likes to blame others, but really she reminds me that I am the only one. Her best skill is endangering my happiness and the ties I share with others. My best skill needs to be making her disappear.

Percaline

Sugar-glazed cherries atop pineapple upside-down cake. Bright red polka dots on the fluffy yellow sea. Savory and moist, like another sweet he knows. He runs his tongue over his round white teeth, teasing out the traces. Like he'd like to do with her. But there will be time enough for that, he tells himself. For now he should just embrace the flavor.

Bodhisattva

Sacrifice. A future she can't forget. A present not worth remembering. Is this the choice that was made for her? She wonders as she weeps. She cries out as she sleeps. She isn't the person she once was; she's not sure she's human anymore. She feels more like a ghost, wandering, aimless, soulless. But maybe there's a reason. She just hasn't found it yet.

Convivial

Brightly burning fire at my back. Friends and family in front. Loud silly movie on the television, chocolate on the table. This is the holiday spirit we've developed. This is the way we enjoy our nights. This is the home I forgot to love. This is a place I'll never forget.

Cuttlefish

She sings the songs for eight days, but she doesn't know the spirit. She fasts and then feasts, skips and skitters. She's a poseur, but she means well. Does he appreciate her efforts to fit into his world? Does he even realize what he asks of her, how incompatible the two are at the core?

Dramaturge

I read her works in the line at the store. She didn't steal my heart, but I couldn't take my mind off the words walking across that page. Talking about life I only sort of knew. Food and sex and fear. Sadness. Strength. It didn't seem like a particularly good book, but still, for some reason, I'd like to read it. Maybe that's success.

Alacrity

With alacrity she follows the wings of the big bird who promised her home. There's no way to tell for sure where any of these small beasts will land, but the tigers, bears, horses and apes all know where they belong. Rise to greatness is inevitable. The little songbird record their tales.

Sleigh

Our interests are not unconditional in the way they covet the day. They slide on down the hill like mud, but we trudge through to the end. The bitters hang low on branches overhead, but we sail right by. These are the nights for watching sports and dreaming sweetly, not reliving grudges or making new ones.

Oviparous

Years fall away when the snow melts off the mountain. The valley pass clears and she finds her way to you. The warmth of her lips breathe rosy pink onto your cheek, your brow, your heart. That's where she leaves the seeds; the flowers to bloom in life's sweet time. That's where you lose yourself, because she's worth the fear. That's what you've always known.

Gesso

Anticipation, sticky and sweet, holding two sides together, covering up the bumps with its sleek, smooth surfaces. What kind of art can we make? I've determined not to think of any stroke as an accident, and you seem to be experimenting a little more comfortably. We haven't found the happy medium yet, but somehow I think we have a chance.

Chopine

These stilletos are killing me. I try to pry them off with the tips of my fingers, but the strap clings stubbornly to my ankle. It's too tight, too constraining. I'd ask you to unclasp them, but I already ask you for so much, don't I? I'm sorry. The lipstick stain on your collar isn't supposed to mar your outfit or even mark you as mine. It was merely an accident. A mistake, you know? I make so many of those with you.

Caduceus

Harried wings fly message and life, words tied to happiness and health. So many stories of marriages that crumble like dry cakes. The thunder of gods applauding our good plays. We dream softly of the past and wait to wake our lover. Sunlight creeps in and paints the world anew. Frost will return before I do.

Chinook

Self-conscious. Does nature ever feel that? How can one's own skin betray? A wind comes down from the good green mountain. You say it's too strong. I wonder how sharp her heels are, and if that's part of what makes her sexy. Sometimes you don't make sense to me, so I pretend to be myself.

Hols

Escape is not always a place. Holiday season melting into my heart. Jingle bells and the sound of your breathing in sleep. Not a long time to dream, but enough to feel I've lived. Maybe that's all it takes. Maybe the rest of my worries are wrong.

Sachet

Sweet scented scintillas of your perfume. I must be dreaming. Of a little girl with smooth soft skin, gently scrubbed, standing in the doorway. The scene ignites like a photograph with seared edges, and I'm sky-high following this sugar rush. Sounds signal the escape I'm to take, and the silliness of this situation makes me smile just a bit. Wherever I go from here, at least I've had this. It's something to keep.

Kerf

What if I make my mark too strongly? What if this groove, this indent, is too deep? A million questions run through my mind, even as I do the things that make me feel more at home. I'm not afraid to say I'm afraid, but I never say it anyway. There are a lot of things better left to Time. I'd rather enjoy the music and the cold air and the whispered sweets. Why through a pebble into the pond when tranquility is what you seek most?

Duomo

Words of wisdom washing over me as we sit by the side of the river and talk like no time at all had passed. The Duomo hovers in the background, and it's a wonder to me that the weight of its beauty hasn't sunk this golden city yet. Her eyes crinkle as I share a funny story, and my lips turn up when it's her turn. We are two old friends, so young still, so much left to learn. We are just beginning the true journey, and here in Florence, nothing could seem more amazing.

Dicephalous

Going to stop talking, let someone else do that for this entity. Two heads are okay, but we need one heart. The little girl whispers that she's terrified, even as the woman spurs herself bravely forward. Their man is waiting. The dichotomy lies not in the desire but in the ability to follow through. How do you know that you're ready? Maybe life won't lead you astray. Trust your one heart, listen to both your heads.

Rhombohedron

Visualization of the fit. One body melding into another. Spatial relations. Size and shape, skin filled out by flesh and muscle, sinew and rushing blood. Edge to edge. Joined hands, fingers gripping tightly, hipbones meeting without pain. Corner to corner. Legs and torsos form obtuse angles, fuse together, fancy toy, girl and boy. Point by point. Two dark circles, prominent, straining, reaching out to meet their partners, to touch one tip to another. Completion, celebration, collapse.

Bazaar

Cuando estabamos en El Rastro, yo pensaba en las cosas que no necesito. Los zapatos, los pendientes, las bolsas y las blusas. Los quería, pero no necesito. Más importante son las memorias y los lugares, los vientos y las montañas. El mar. La ciudad de los artes y las ciencias. Este verano, que nunca puedo tener otra vez. No puedo comprarlo, y no quiero venderlo. Es mío, para siempre. Como tú.

Joie de vivre

The rhythm is a movement translated from the stage to the heart, life becoming life. There's a way of saying what you feel without using a single word. I hear the music and I sing, la la la la la, hmm hmm, hmm hmm. Faces in the crowd, but the lights blind with their brilliance. Keep dancing until they black out, because this is your moment, your best, and maybe your only.

Petroglyph

Bodies on a wall. Two women, naked. Simple lines, gathering here, curving there. Sitting together, one hand on the other's knee. Thick dark hair, in both places. Why does she look sad? Why does the other look away? The tragedy of being female and not knowing why you bleed. Since the beginning of time, always the same.

Queenside

Everyone's queenside from where I stand. But I don't stand with them. I'm at your side, and so I share your view. We are looking at the same sky, the same horizon, the same birds taking flight--even if we use different words to describe them. I hold your hand, even when I cover my face to cry. I need you to hold back, even when you're walking away. Then I'll know you're only going so far, and I can wait.

Nugatory

The question. Is. Which. Is unimportant. To you. On one hand, I feel bad. For not being stronger. More secure. On the other, I know. I am. Despite what you might. See. This is not exacting. Not. Unreasonable. Neither are you. But. Unnecessary? Not really. Is it so? Wrong? I know. But. I want. To hear. I am loved.

Miter joint

Bend. Contort. Spread to fit. Woman does this for man. She takes him in, through the fear, through the pain. She rocks him. She holds him tight. He explodes with unearthly joy. But she is not in Heaven. Because he leaves her. And he does not understand. He does not soothe her with words, or reassure her with attention. He is man, and she is woman, but she is angel too. She is strong, and she will keep her faith. She knows his love. And should she lose it, even without warning, she would live on. That is the special power she was given to keep her safe.

Helter-skelter

Words. Carrying me forward. Rushing river. But what moves me? I'm not certain anymore. I'd like to be good with images, and with song. I'd like to be strong. I think I'm just tired. Rushing river and I'm struggling to swim. Everyone else seems to have found their lifeline, their out. Tal vez... tal vez Madrid.

Cocooning

I'm always looking at you, hoping to catch your eye. You're always looking the other way, but your hand stays warm on my thigh. I'd be more concerned if I didn't think I understood. I'd see things as bad if they weren't so goddamn good. Maybe things would be different, for me, if I liked my own skin. Then I'd stand my ground even when it turned to mud and I sunk down to my chin.