your pink lips

didn't anyone ever tell you
not to play with fire?
what are you thinking, putting your hand
in the flame like that,
watching the skin bubble?

a soft snowfall in march
your pink lips kissing a white rose
the outline of your figure in a doorway

why don't you surrender,
lay down your heart?
true, you risk losing it forever
a skulking coyote could make a quick snack of it

but if you said, i'm helpless
if you said, i'm out of love
if you said, i'm emptier than zero
lonelier than god

a nymph would touch a bird in the forest
a wing would flap
you would feel a fluttering in your middle

why don't you retire yourself,
your storytelling?
tell your own story someone else's way
then you will see

Saying Yes.

I'd rather be topless. Her jeep sped off; these words cozied up around her license plate. I leave my car and walk into the divey Mexican place on International Boulevard, and I wonder. I wonder if my two friends seated on either side of me will make a go of it, and try a kiss, a caress, when they look at the stars tonight. I wonder how long we’ll have Martin, I wonder about this as I sweep him into a polka after dinner, after being gifted a free Mexican ballad on the digital jukebox. We dance down the aisle, past our table and our spent margaritas, and his words come out with urgency – “HOLD THE DOORS!" and his wife and Jon immediately obey, and swing the two doors wide for Martin and I to dance into the street. It’s good for the soul, this spontaneous exuberance, this glimmer of celebration for no reason. Something about dancing like this says YES to life. Perhaps it’s the contrast between giggles and the dirty floor. Perhaps for that moment, the tenderness, the connection helps us to transcend it all, and it matters not where we are, because we are being. Because we are joy, because we love, just because the doors are open.