queen of cups
trickling tributaries
raging rivers
bipolar bifurcations
she,
discerning
choosing
surrendering
choosing life
choosing love
neither predator
nor prey
(finally!)
an open vessel–
at once overflowing
and empty
ready to fill
and be filled
reading her my poetry about a man with a swagger ‘neath red flame chandeliers (and comparing notes) circular narratives about life and gypsies and making sense of men (and ourselves) a text to her lover in a moment of mischief fueled with red wine (and some flirting) “I think she’s trying to get me drunk,”…
Me to Gigi: “What do you see?” “A man about to step off a cliff.” “Do you think he’s in danger?” “No.” “Why not?” “I don’t know. I just think he’s going to be all right.” “Why do you think the eagle is there?” “To make sure he is all right.” Hmmm. Indeed. Note: The…