The first half of my life I spent

trying to attract.

Nothing seemed more important,

so I worked, and tried, and grasped

with all my might.

“Come here! Come here! Please, oh, please!”

Youth is wasted on the young and foolish.

All that desperate grasping ever got me

was not what I was looking for.

Now I know attraction is a subtler art,

one of letting go,

of just being,

of allowing,

no effort,

just you.

[scs_alt]

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Now I’ve seen how you see me,

explored below the surface,

glimpsed the caverns hidden below the glassy calm,

I want to keep exploring.

I want to learn your melody in all its changing intricacies —

the counterpoint, the harmonics —

get every alternate chord under my fingers.

I want to close my eyes and sway to your tango,

pick up every telegraphed signal from your pressed-close torso.

I want to catch every pass you throw,

and send it arcing through the air right back to your waiting hands.

I never want to live without you.

[scs_alt]

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She’s tempted to say no.

To ask for a do-over.

To draw another card from the stack.

But she’s learning,

after half a lifetime’s turns around the sun,

that the real juice comes from saying yes.

From locking horns with discomfort,

rather than running away.

Easy does not equal good,

or satisfying.

So she doesn’t say no,

doesn’t retreat.

Instead she locks eyes,

fixes her gaze, and says,

“Lay it on me.”

[scs_alt]

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You’ve got class.

I’m taking a class.

I’m teaching a class.

What class of service would you like?

I’m outclassed.

Class glass gas sass pass passel tassle facile fast past last mast cast.

In sixth grade, after eleven years of undamaged bones, I tripped over a stray recess ball and landed on my right arm on the red top. Hairline fracture. None of the romance of a cast. No plaster surface for signatures to prove my popularity, alas.

[scs_alt]

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Why, when most of the day

I’m not even aware

that I’m doing it,

does the suggestion

to focus on my breath

send me into a mild panic

that asphyxiation is surely night?

As if turning my attention

to the East

will make the rising sun

disappear.

As if,

like a skittish furry creature,

the best tactic is to ignore,

in hopes it will slowly sidle up

to nibble corn kernels

from my open palm.

I may look away,

but my  hand tingles with anticipation.

So embrace it.

Yes, on day it will stop,

so indulge while you can.

Bask in the sheer delight

of breathing.

[scs_alt]

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