el chupicabra

from wednesday july 20th, 2005...

on being the peach, on being a woman

Last night the air was sweet and the moon full but there was little breeze. Last night I took lessons on being a woman. Funny what a man can tell you about your own nature. Or rather what your own nature is supposed to be. Intention versus perception, what is real? But what he said struck home.

In retrospect, you should know I grew up in a vaccuum raised by books and apparently Dickens and Poe could only go so far in thier teachings. The rest I suppose should have been learned from human interaction. Only there was little human interaction, just books and my own imagination for the longest time.

So now I understand some things about what I should be feeling. As a woman I should want more. In entering an exclusive relationship, I should naturally want it to develop in to something serious. I should be territorial, jealous of other females, perhaps especially the younger ones, the pretty ones, the more exotic ones, the often immature.

But I raised myself from scratch more than I was raised by another. And between that and the hardness I've faced in life, the loss, I truly believe…

Every relationship has a time and place, a depth and duration, a purpose. And we can only know these things as they occur and in hindsight. Though I suppose hope plays a role somewhere in there, I’m not quite sure where, but I always seem to have it in abundance.

We spoke of other things, the house, my moving, friendship...

The line stayed clear and we spoke at length of suddenly having friends you couldn’t walk away from and the panic that instilled in us. The freedom we lost by it and the companionship we gained. That was the key, companionship. Loners I think are such by habit as much by nature, but sometimes we find we need others and it's a new way of life to suddenly learn.

So on being a woman? Evidently where I should want marriage, I want companionship and intimacy and where I should be jealous of the young, the pretty, the immature, I find I’m not. For though I may not be the typical female, from where a man stands, as my friend says, I am most definitely all woman.

p.s. thank you my friend for believing I am who I am and difficult to typify. It means a lot that someone actually sees that part of me.

I've received more comments on my autobiographical flash than I would ever have imagined.

But knowledge and growth don't come with batteries or instructions and I often find my mind wondering to common themes. The nature of my needs in a relationship is one.

Many ask why I don't date, why I'm not looking. Besides being happy as I am, I honestly don't believe I'll find the right person who fits me. For one, I require a lot of patience. I also don't need the security of permanancy, I find security in myself. The constraints of long term don't draw me as do companionship and intimacy, the need to give freely with no expectations...do my thing my way. No, not everything has to go somewhere but that doesn’t mean I can't give all of who I am…in the right circumstance.

In speaking to a friend recently I asked if he had seen the movie Secretary. He had not. It explores the concept of nonconformist roles in relationships - accepting who you are and what you need.

Sometimes I wish I could fit a mold, could be typified, could conform...

Shall I compare thee to a summers day
Sonnet 18
William Shakespeare

Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?
Thou art more lovely and more temperate.
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
And summer's lease hath all too short a date.
Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,
And often is his gold complexion dimmed;
And every fair from fair sometime declines,
By chance, or nature's changing course untrimmed.
But thy eternal summer shall not fade
Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow'st;
Nor shall death brag thou wand'rest in his shade,
When in eternal lines to time thou grow'st,
So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,
So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.

I
In words I caught a glimpse
of something deeper, something true
eyes bright, smile too sweet,
in visage I gleaned verisimilitude.

I said hello, you replied, words flew
poetics ensued, you dared we meet
strike the match. I was nervous
by all accounts you’re quite the catch.

Having lit the tender, we set no hearts afire.

Yet words I thought come
too soon removed me from the heat
my nervousness eased
and when you mentioned wine,
soft, discreet, I cooed, began to plot
my pursuit of you, too woo, to dine,

feed the ash to smolder bright,
a desirous heat like hot concrete
lasting throught the night.

To my lover I will hold no reserve
just adore me whilst you can
and part my dearest friend
but never say never nor
let me out of your life,
I beg never go ever or when.

My boys…my girls…
we speak in intimacy
I cherish your depth
the tiniest glimpse
you allow me of you
and how you grow
sprout from soil rich
my little peaches…

how did we meet

On the fly for Pope Bongo , III

I believe it was Rio. The lights and the sounds, the merriment. we passed on the street, both turning to speak and you asked "vous aimez le cafe?" in your formal-esque French and my soft drawl replied, "coffee"? We sat at the cafe animation, speaking of words and lost loves, exchanging addresses promising to stay in touch. We never did. You returned to the states to your wife and child and I to my university and books. And how often have you thought of Rio? As often as I?

wednesday eve

She thought to call...

too late
the deed is done
small hands reached
where his once lay,

she

has come undone
to thoughts…of

a smooth expanse of flesh
firm under the tongue
and taut between the teeth.

I sing to thee in soft soliloquy
of thy sweet caress
of thy skin’s smoothness

and how I had not slept,
but do hunger for a second
chance; could not, your flesh
a distraction too much

yet gone too soon
was thy lover's touch.

She writes love poems.
Even the sadnes, the death,
they are love.

she flutters by

I am deeper than a kiss she thinks
and then something bright and shiny flew by;
she was gone, off in another direction
her hand holding his all the while.

The anchor allowed her this freedom.

She…
was more the type
to take a lover in the truer
sense of the word, dynamics
defined loose and broad;

to cherish, to adore,
give freely, unfettered
and simply of her herself;
open heart, open door
open mind in honesty and
at leisure to explore
these bounds ‘cause

She
was more the type to be
mistress than to be wife
for as a lover she gives
what she expects in return;

friendship and the touch,
the taste of skin; cool hands
on too hot flesh; desire.

Listening
words and music
always
the humming
in my ears.

Dreaming and

Making
the list to do
with you
I wonder will it
Ever come about.

Wanting and

Planning
isn’t doing and
idealization falls
short held against
manifestation.

Living

So easy to slip off
cool and calm interest
when the heat of
desire becomes need.

Deep breath, shallow,
she remains in
control, her aggression
pacing the cage.

in comment for Jim Coppoc

When all the day has done it's deeds
and the girls with thier wants and needs
are nowhere to be found 'round your roost
turn to me, the peach you seek? Forsooth!