this was a poem that has
stayed with me
for a long time
in the back of my mind
quietly.

Beneath my hands
your small breasts
are the upturned bellies
of breathing fallen sparrows.

Wherever you move
I hear the sounds of closing wings
of falling wings.

I am speechless
because you have fallen beside me
because your eyelashes
are the spines of tiny fragile animals.

I dread the time
when your mouth
begins to call me hunter.

When you call me close
to tell me
your body is not beautiful
I want to summon
the eyes and hidden mouths
of stone and light and water
to testify against you.

I want them
to surrender before you
the trembling rhyme of your face
from their deep caskets.

When you call me close
to tell me
your body is not beautiful
I want my body and my hands
to be pools
for your looking and laughing.

-- Leonard Cohen

and in a vague way
it wound its way into this
not-really-a-poem-but-a-moment-
caught-in-time...

(please excuse the length...)

fresh out of hot steamy bath of bubbles
jet streams of water aimed at my skin
window open to let cool fresh air
and the scent of rain in.

seeing myself through your eyes
as i stand in front of the mirror
red glow of candlelight shining on still wet skin
cheeks flushed
lilacs reflecting from behind

i try to imagine what you would see

in this light, in this mood, in this moment
i don't center on stretch marks
i don't notice wrinkles in my face
my roots aren't showing in this forgiving light
and instead of a belly
all i see is smooth
and tight

i think of swallows
and upturned breasts
i think of your body against mine
the ease in which it rests

nothing else matters
things come and go
change
and stay
the same
ups and downs, highs and lows...
with you, i always remain.