Our life's a stage, a comedy: either learn to play and
take it lightly, or bear its troubles patiently.
A person is born with desires of the eyes and ears,
and a liking for beautiful sights and sounds.
If he gives way to them, they will lead him to immorality
and lack of restriction, and any ritual principles and propriety will be
abandoned.
What I dislike least in my former self are the moments of prayer.


Kite ---
The morning after the first night we made love, the note on your pillow
said, "Good morning sparkle boy. I'll be back around noon, you, make
yourself at home." And so I did, maybe. I'm saying maybe, I put on your
slippers. Which were as comfortable as bunnies, because they were
bunnies. And then shuffled across my new favorite hard wood floor to
the bathroom where maybe, I took a bubble bath. Which is not
something I could do at my place because frankly my tub is way to
skanky to ever sit my bare ass down it. And then maybe, I got so
caught up in the romance of the suds I started quoting old Latin poetry
from my college days like, "Fulsere quondam tibi candidi dies." You
know, uh, verily the gods do favor me this morning mother ♥♥♥♥♥♥! And
then maybe, I played with myself. But it's not what you're thinking! I'm
saying possibly, I just sorta stuck my hand up from the water for some
reason and started going like, you know like, uh, "somebody got laid
last night, hahaha. You. You! YOU!" You know or whatever. And then
maybe, I started playing with myself and it's exactly what you're
thinking. But if I did, it was only to put the mental motion picture of our
naked night together on replay, and replay, and replay. So touching
myself was just like TiVo in a way. And yes, I wass still wet when I
borrowed your bathrobe. And yes, I scared the birds away from your
balcony with my antics dancing full blast to your old Prince CD's. But
please, let's keep that my little secret because nothing is as private as
a solitary dance. Unless maybe, it's standing in front of a full length
mirror in a borrowed pair of bunny slippers, slippin' off a bathrobe and
then wishing to a light bulb that my name or my game or my whatever
were bigger. Wondering what kind of woman wants this skinny kid for a
warrior. And so I made for you a kite, enormous. Out of coat hangers,
brown paper bags, and the masking tape from that drawer in your
kitchen. And I hung it, in the hallway where you couldn't hardly miss it.
And I tagged that kite with my words. I wrote, "Just so you know, my
weird mind wonders and my brave heart breaks. I've nailed some
milestones, but I make mistakes. 'Cause I got more faults than a map
of California earthquaks. I am taking a nap beneath your covers. Wake
me if you like me, wake me if you want me, wake me if you need
another poem. Your once and future lover, has made himself at home.