The daffodil I picked up
was at your house
the one I felt as I strolled by Hoyt and Sackett.
You made me laugh
the scent of roses and solidarity in my ear.
Why is it that I'm still flooded
with torrid rain as I listen to your heart?
Quenching the chest
with the drink of what's to come.
Looking for sprouts
in the damp Brooklyn earth.
Sunday, March 10, 2013
Saturday, March 9, 2013
Friday, March 8, 2013
I like to imagine that this is were genuine friendships are formed, that all relationships, regardless with men or women, begin with just two people who like each other for who they are. They are open, free and not afraid to express their needs all the while knowing the other is there. There is no weight placed on yesterday or tomorrow, but just the quality of enjoying each other in the now.