the po~et (ink)

There are a few reasons why people read the words of a poet. One is to simply humor the poor soul because everyone thinks he is two shakes from being on the other side of sane. Or you read because you too chase away the same demons. You understand the inescapable words or the ones too slippery to hold. You read because you are in awe of those who have mastered the pen. You can see the sweat at the end of each line. You study poets and it becomes a sickness or even a weakness--you can't help yourself. You wonder if to whom the labor is in dedication to has read beyond the introductory page? Or do they just casually mention it at dinner parties to elevate their status? All too familiar. You can hear their loneliness in between the letters. You wonder do they know how invasive you have become? And if so, why do they expose themselves for you to see? Either they humor you the reader or the two, both the writer and the admirer, are equally lonely. They look for someone to wipe the ink from their hands. Like making love, they would rather not do so alone.

the po~et (exotic fruit)

His legs she could climb, search behind and underneath every inch of his frame to find what causes him to make the sounds she hears while she's asleep. To discover the origin of the taste that rest in her mouth when she least expect sending her eyes wandering to see if he is in close proximity. Just the thought of him causes it to surface. The mixture she isn't sure about; but she is sure its moisture is something new--like that of unfamiliar tropical fruit. The kind that won't pass through customs. The kind photographed and chronicled in books that line the shelves of libraries.

the po~et (defining phrases)

To be a fool is one thing but to knowingly be one is quite different. Jack had grown weary of the game. She called it that because the whole "non-relationship" she had with Paul was strategical. Who would make the next move? What would it all mean? At first, she admitted it was flattering, but now she was frustrated. Patience never was an attribute she possessed or even made a conscious effort to aspire to have. But mostly her frustration was due to the lack of physical contact. To have sexual exploits in theory only doesn't exactly define affair. There are those who would disagree. She imagined those lovers who frantically rummaged through one anothers privacy would think otherwise. She had to admit the entire "relationship" made her view the subject differently, made her question the validity in promises made later to be broken. Somehow internally you know it is impossible to keep. Who has knowledge of how they will feel twenty years down the stream when the air seems different, when the definitions change.