Author: nataliebotero

Miles Away

 I visualize my partner, miles away

From his wife,

But we’re connected to each other’s

Innermost thoughts, as we type.

Though on the written page, together at the same time,

Every night,

Here in the flow of conversation,

Here in the Now, heads bent in the moment,

And then I hear your voice aloud!

The change in the way you look,

The years it took to be side by side,

Not like new times may be.

We were sensitive to sound.

Sometimes missing each other so much

When we we’re laying around.

God, I give you more respect.

I believe your right timing is in retrospect.

 

Love shook so bad

The day I told you

Over and over so

The rug would stay

Under your feet and not

Shake me to the dry

Bone of my left

Five-year old,

A body left as unattached

For many years.

Locked in a grid

Of which Earth

Would move first,

Mine or the rock

We landed on.

For what purpose?

This.

 

This. This bliss

Of knowing this Light

And my impatience

With time, in its

Slow tender rewind,

And it is time to take,

To grieve of

Rivers left inside

Dormant long ago

Thought dead though alive.

 

Birds flown into space

The animals let loose in the foot.

Not enough angles

For soothing.

Hearts buried deep

In a zoo.

The rush of hunger

Shook us.

 

I light the wish aloft

Nervously glancing

Towards how many days,

To be looked at and seen

And made love to

Anyway

Over and over again

Because we retreat

To the old ways.

 

The mayhem roll tide of the classroom

The stumbled foot crisis in the realization

You’re in love.

The roll tide of longing

And the mayhem dictating,

Escalating,

Our expressions, hidden as

We write on the chalkboard

In our memory

To each other.

While distance pangs the stomach,

Yearning stops and starts the blood,

The distraction in the classroom

Is only in our heads.

Going home soon,

Though trying not to expire

In the night and choosing the hour

To believe we will call one another

Again?

Probably, but with feeling not easily said

Startled by the static of concrete electricity

And missing each other

Absolutely.

And holding out another night

Because of the dread

And for the impossible thought

Of her lying in bed.

It’s late tonight

I love you, she already said.

 

 

 

 

The lone wolf

Now does not remember.

The eyes wandering

Inward like water

For a stalking word.

Simplicity is no longer,

Because of responsibility.

Nothing may change

Except their fear of the King,

The fear of vanity

Is a groundless winter.

 

 

 

 Sting like a butterfly

Hurt like a bee

There is the springtime

Of my love

Into jealousy.

 

 

(Don’t worry. There may be some fish left in the sea!.)

 

 I only feel romantic essence

When I’m glazing inward

Watching the startled butterflies.

 

 

 

Do I abandon them, or run away?

 

 

 

 

The beauty you are creating

Is in the beauty you cannot see.

 

 

 

Church bells, too. Who tripped?

 

 

Mothers of example

Fishnets of men

She should just

Throw herself

Into her pool

Again.

 

 and then…

The Pitch of the Pits of the Peach

 

Liquid songs

Like the gargle of bells

Of a morning smoothie

It’s the pits

Of the peach

That for us

Are soothing.

 

 

How will I become without privacy?

Without headspace to review my own tragedy?

Empty space is not a malady.

It is a reprieve from insanity.

 

 

The good is done.

I’m still at home

With the secret.

Not such an ideal day off,

But I’m gonna keep it.

 

 

 I’m inviting karma.

There is a break

This is how I celebrate

Taken, shaken

Up, up and around

The escape route

Is on my lawn chair,

My feet are riddled

With excitement

And wear

I feel relief coming

When it’s not there.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

In my imagination,

There are hints of the truth.

I think the past, future

The present

Are imagination’s proof.

Where ideas come first,

From some long-buried force

What we have is in invention

And the inspiration to work.

And give it back.

 

In my imagination,

there have been dreams.

While forming in imagination

Is hard to speak.

I think the past, future,

Present, is actually its peak.

 

Imagination with faith, action,

Movement came

From some long-buried force

There was something I needed

My shots of desire soared

My expectations exceeded

My ideas yielded more

 

Now the sun, my notebook,

A chance to find a cup

This nice cold peace

I’ll take, from a life

Both cold and rough.

Fantasy, dissociation

Look at the illusory

The most lacking in wealth

Come to treatment.

Their knowledge they possess

There is no search, no true health.

 

Einstein had a good idea.

He really was for the positioning of God

For whom stars and light years

May not be so far.

Sitting down resting, ideas nesting

Shooting from the top of your head

Imagination is yours,

Not another’s, light years ahead.