7.3.19

The motion, erased
perfectly spectacle.
The head held least,
though by sight gloved,
militant oracle.
Fabric about her feet,
certain we coalesce
and intertwine.
The music of undreaming,
her shade astride,
cool and thrumming,
tousled and wanting.

-r. miller

3.19.18

“I saw water”
in the way she looked at me.
She fed me tempests, lyrically,
and my belly swelled delightedly.
On the right track finally,
we left the city’s listlessness
and ascended blissfully
to another region
where we swept away
the thoughtless,
charred debris
of our previous identity.

-r. miller

Sunrise at midnight

Hey. It’s been a while, hasn’t it? Years, I reckon. Years which have only stoked the brushfire that is your absence. That might be too literary a way of putting it, but you know me. That’s how my brain works. I only really know what to say when there’s a pen in my hand and a fresh sheet of paper in front of me. My conversational ineptitude should come as no surprise.

Anyway, do you remember the last time we saw each other? It was a cold December night, like I said, years ago. You were home, visiting your parents for the holidays. I remember you texted me, asked if we could catch up. I didn’t tell you this at the time, but I was… To put it frankly, elated. I was elated because then, much like now, it had been years since I had seen you.

So all of those old feelings began welling up. Feelings that I’d developed for you, and that I then actively tried to suppress because I wasn’t quite ready for them. And of course, I told you “Sure, let’s meet somewhere,” and you suggested the old diner that we used to go to, way back when. I drove the forty minutes. You met me in the parking lot.

I remember thinking how stunning you looked… You were wearing a charcoal pencil skirt and a scarlet blouse, with a matching shade of lipstick. Your chocolate hair fell in airy waves about your shoulders… God, you looked so beautiful… And then I remember thinking that you were very likely always this beautiful, and I was simply too miserable to appreciate it. Those old feelings welled up even stronger now, but I tried to play disinterested. First mistake. When you saw me, you rushed up and threw your arms around my neck. I politely reciprocated your embrace, only for a brief moment before shyly pulling away. Second mistake.

We got a booth, the one you always liked, by the window that looks out over the main drag. You always loved watching the road, especially late at night, when there were only a handful of motorists out at any given time, and the entire scene became an incandescent panorama of streetlamps and big box store signs. You said it relaxed you. Given what a shit I was back then, I’d say you needed it.

We talked about what was going on in our lives. You, about your recent broken engagement and how hard it was finding an affordable apartment in the city; me about my new job and the poems which had recently been accepted for publication. We talked about the old days, too, before my stupid, juvenile hang-ups made a mess of everything. And as we were talking, I couldn’t help but marvel at the changes in you that had taken place since we broke it off. You seemed much freer, much more at ease with yourself. No longer the insecure girl you’d been before.

And then I thought about how little I’d changed. Because I was falling in love with you all over again, and I was just as frightened of it now as I was so many years ago. Surely you’d noticed. It was so obvious. The fact that I stammered ever so slightly at the start of each sentence, that I fidgeted with every container of half-and-half I’d dump into my coffee, and the lovelorn looks that would manifest on my face whenever our gazes met.

Why was I so afraid? It would have been so easy to just confess right there how I felt about you. The most natural thing in the world, and yet… I resisted. I grabbed that impulse by the neck, lopped off its plump head, watched the blood drain from the stump and soak the carpet of my imagination. Third mistake.

You walked in front of me to the counter when it came time to pay for our food. There was something sensual in the way you moved. Instantly, a myriad lascivious ideas swept over me: I wanted you more than I’d ever wanted anyone. Still, I kept quiet, though now it was because I was utterly ashamed to be thinking those kinds of thoughts about you, the poised and confident woman you’d become. I offered to pay for the both of us, in recompense for my transgression. “Such a gentleman,” you said. Not really.

I walked you to your car. A light snow was beginning to fall, the first of the season in all its underwhelming glory. We hugged once more, and this time, I held on just a little longer, allowing the feeling of you in my arms to penetrate every inch of my body. And as I reluctantly pulled away, our gazes met yet again. I could live forever in your gaze, you know. But… There was definitely a magnetism between us that night, because you thrust your lips against mine. I shut my eyes, felt the two of us dissolving into that kiss, and for a full minute, that kiss is all that existed.

I had to catch my breath after you pulled away. There was such an intense glow and warmth about you. It felt like a sunrise at midnight. All I wanted then was to let all of those feelings out, to run away with you to New York, Paris, Tokyo, anywhere that we’d dreamed of. But I didn’t. And all that remained for us was silence. You finally said goodbye, got into your car, and drove off. I lit up a smoke and drove my own way, forty minutes back, listening to “Sky High” by Ben Folds Five.

-r. miller

3/5/17

Get your beautiful face off of my wall.
Drink of whatever fountain
catches your attention.
In a past life, I was a didgeridoo.
I had all the latest nukes
and cucumber salad was more to-the-point
than any dish I’d savored.
My dream is to one day love you
to my heart’s content, but
the distance casts a rock-like shadow
between your point A and my point B.
Guess I’ll see you in the ether-ridden dawn,
in the awful prospect
of no-tomorrow.

-r. miller

I Want to Kiss You

Bethany and I sat smoking in her parents’ backyard beneath a wet July half-moon. Aside from the occasional cloud passing languidly overhead, it was a clear night. Humid, though, if I remember right. Anyway, neither of us were saying much, just passing a joint back and forth, listening to the cicadas hum like engines in the trees. The weed tasted like orange peel. I was nursing a lukewarm beer and trying to think of something to say, because I felt like I had to say something. All that came to mind was “I want to kiss you.”

I couldn’t say that, though. If I did, she’d know that for the past several months, I’d been developing feelings for her. I’d ignored them at first. She’d had a boyfriend, Drew, up until two weeks ago, and to nurture any romantic attraction would have been in poor taste. I did an alright job of keeping them buried, though whenever we talked, I’d sense them stirring, like roots struggling to break through a seed.

I loved our talks. No bullshit, like with everyone else we knew. No idle gossip, no chatting about the weather or who’s been sleeping with whom, no rehashing old stories in some narcissistic effort to mythologize our lives. I remember we’d stay up all night at parties, long after everyone had left or passed out, feverishly discussing whether or not existence has any objective value in a godless universe, which Fugazi songs we thought were the best, and why John Ashbery is the greatest living American poet. She truly came alive then, during our talks. Her fierce intellect sparked behind her luscious blue eyes, cutting through me like a diamond cuts glass. And how musical her speech was, her words carried by the fluid rhythm of her thoughts. It was like a dance, both of us leading and following in our turn. I think that’s partly why she and Drew broke up, but I can’t confirm it.

Ironic that now I couldn’t think of one single thing to say to her other than “I want to kiss you.” As if someone had branded this phrase upon my mind with a hot iron. I wondered if she could tell, as if my present manner somehow betrayed this desire I was trying my damndest to conceal. Of course she couldn’t. I’m practically a virtuoso at keeping my feelings hidden from view. We were friends, after all. It would be imprudent to risk our friendship for romance.

“I should probably get to bed,” Bethany sighed, pressing the joint into the damp grass, “It’s like, 2 o’clock in the morning.”
“Yeah,” I muttered, “I have to work in six hours.”
We both rose, and I walked with her to the back door of her parents’ house, t he words “I want to kiss you” still smoldering.
“Text me tomorrow,” She said, “We can go get a drink or something.”
“Yeah… I will.” A meek smile passed over my face.
“Well…” She paused, anticipating something maybe, but unsure of what that something was, “Goodnight.” We hugged hastily. She went inside and I trudged out to the street, to my car. I opened the door and slumped into the driver’s seat.
“I want to kiss you,” I whispered to the empty space beside me, before turning the key in the ignition and driving away.

-r. miller

Silly

For Amy 

She’s a weeping whisper,
but blissful.
She’s lissome and lascivious
as a summer’s evening.
You wouldn’t believe
what she has me believing.

We get silly in the sheets,
and the heartbeats
between us
make the rhythm
that accompanies
her melodious moans.

-r. miller

Home Improvement

It was out of love for you
that I set my house ablaze.

I stood amazed at what I’d done,
beholding the very structure
of my deepest daze
razed to a charred heap of pillowy soot.
There was tenderness afoot
that night, bright red sashes
dashing right to left and left to right,
as if to spite the dark.
Beneath a pockmarked moon,
I crooned a little lullaby
whose only lyric was your name,
and I smiled unashamed
as I bathed in the luxurious rain
of its melody.

-r. miller

May 5th, 2013

You said that you’re leaving
In a few weeks, perhaps for good
So we walk with our arms linked
Sharing a cigarette –

It isn’t quite dark yet
Night has only begun
To emerge from the cradle of dusk
The streetlights have come on
And you comment on
How beautiful they look
In the bluesy ebb
I agree –

There isn’t a whole lot
To do in this town
Especially if you’re young
And beautiful, except walk
Around smoking ciagettes
And we are young, we are
Beautiful like these streetlights
And we want nothing more
Than to be young and beautiful
And maybe a pint of vegan ice cream
But the supermarket, it seems
Has locked its doors for the night
Shit out of luck, but at last
We have a free moment
Where we can share a kiss

You taste like cigarettes –

-r. miller