Field Day

Cows munch

crunch bunchgrass.

Meat loafing? 

-kc

Gooseflesh

An accidental movement,

Brief collision, collusion

Of forms.

The hair on your arms rises,

Gooseflesh.

I scan the diffuse darkness,

Seek the steady targets 

Of your pupils,

The measured cadence 

Of your mouth,

Draw a slow breath,

Wait.

Seconds slip by

As I search the persistent

Ambiguity of your eyes,

Focus

Until everything is 

Molecular,

Hover on the brink

For a single word,

An indicative pixel,

The flicker or furrow of a line

To sever the 

Tension.

A stasis

Aching to be shattered,

A stillness

Pressing in

Until we break

Gaze, and I look

Again at the vestigial terrain

Of your skin,

Reach out for you

With nothing but purpose,

And then,

Then your body speaks.

- kc

Speakeasy

The lights hunker down, low and flickering, casting tremulous shadows on the dark walls. Heads tilt closer to the midline. Another glass is poured, another drink is stirred, with midnight's subtle fading. As the music's tempo begins to slink and waft, a few tables now sit empty - forks abandoned at reckless angles, plates streaked with honey or dotted with olive pits, fingerprints on the wine bottle.

You are confessing a long-held regret. I attempt to take each word and wring out its meaning, rather than let my body simply blur into the mellifluous cadence of your voice. A woman begins to cry silently at a table in the periphery, while three others respond by simultaneously reaching for her free hand. The bartender leans against the counter, momentarily subdued. A man clutching a leather jacket moves gingerly forward to push a swath of molasses-toned hair from his girlfriend's face.

There is a kind of honour in this. 

I suck the gin from my martini olive and we rise to lose ourselves again in the nebula of city lights.

-kc

La Luna Primavera

La luna primavera,

una fruta grande y rosa

con pétalos de luz

que se mueven suavemente 

a la tierra.

-kc