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May 16, 2003



 Love, 3 Ways

Whisper of the Past

The cassette winds through
And your
Voice is in my headphones
The tape is battered
So abused, played
I am missing you even
Though you are a
Whisper of my past.
-- Eric Marks
January 21, 2003


I could not
love you more
even if it were a
perfect day
-- Wally Shore


Cause and Effect

Because you touched me -- almost didn't
touch me -- brushed a little finger's outer edge
against my unsuspecting hand,
traffic stopped
            chatter ceased
                         and such
a silence settled on the rough stone
wall where we sat that a green
moth near our feet forgot to fly.
Clouds froze in midair and out beyond
the Golden Gate waves paused in precarious arcs
before they collapsed and slid toward shore.
You spoke.
My words swung up like almost imperceptible
spiders' lines to meet yours.
Because your thumb traced a line,
softly traced and traced along
the ridge to my wrist, my fingers
warmed, curled around your thumb and pressed
into the mound of flesh at its base.
Lost in constantly changing forms, my finger
and your thumb intertwined
                       writhed like two
kelp tendrils caught by the current.
One escaped to touch
hair, touch eyes, touch lips.
Lips captured lips, themselves lost,
themselves a tangle of lips and tongues.
Lips sought throats, ribcages, ankles,
hands found buttocks and breasts, probed
the warm region between the thighs.
Your arms wrapped around me,
we rose and fell with the tide.
Because you did not speak, did not
say goodbye but
held my body to your smooth brown shoulder
and filled my wordless mouth with yours;
because you did not stop me as I left,
did not try to
push the pain of parting past
its own natural crest;
because you cast me loose,
I floated home on empty city streets,
leaving behind a phosphorescent trail to your door.
-- Susannah Martin