Let me

Let me rest my head on you,
Your heart beating a steady rhythm in my ear
Through the heat of your soft, perfumed skin.
Cradle my body, and let me cuddle, just once
A tight ball in the only place I feel safe.
I can taste the salt of your skin on my lips,
And it makes me intoxicated,
The only drink to bring that buzz to my fingertips,
Or to make you so bright and the world so dim.
Let me close my eyes against the spin of the room,
And use my other senses, secure in the knowledge
That I’m as oriented as I could ever be,
Held close by the center of my universe.
Let it unfurl in my belly,
That coil of thoughts and careful considerations,
Let me throw them all on the winds of passion,
And catch little bits of myself on the breeze.
Let me rediscover how it is to discover
The secrets of who I really am when I’m allowed,
When I trust us enough to be me.

Toy with strings

You could be a toy with strings,
To know nothing that it brings.
Pointy hat to bring forth smile,
Fretting grin to seem more vile,
Ripping laughter out of tears,
Spreading joy or washing fears.

Yet all you see in your bright act,
Taking feelings as a fact,
Turning soul into mechanics,
Heart of wood to all of panics.
Strings to lead both foot and hand –
Differences can’t help blend.

Your black eyes make all the show;
If you could yourself to slow,
You’d see how this doesn’t matter –
Not the smiles, not all the flatter,
When you don’t have heart to feel,
When your joy measures in skill.

Tell me, broken wooden puppet,
How you’d love to leave your trumpet,
Get out of your cowboy boots
And stay still till you grow roots.
‘Cause inside, all lead by strings
Yearn the peace that just rest brings.

Numbers than names (part 1)

It’s easier to talk to numbers than names,
Easier to talk to masses of people,
Where you are an integer among real numbers,
An unique identity in an abstract sense
But easily glossed over in the big picture.
It’s a strange equality of differences
Where the deviations always exist
But they do it so regularly that nobody cares.
There’s some expectation from neighbours
That you’ll keep to your approximate place –
This is why I like to be in a big set,
So the string of possibilities stretches
And I can sneak behind my closest numbers,
And speak, and do, and change
Without comment or supervision,
A fleeting act of rebellion
That doesn’t change the slightest the mean,
Doesn’t matter in any lasting way.