June

The days are sunny as sunflowers,
Warm as our bedsheets during late mornings,
The sun sliced through curtain blinds, 
Your silhouette split by light slides, 
Skies slick as polished mirrors, 
Afternoons bright as a beer buzz
On a beach of glittering sand, like a field of diamonds,
And salt water - silver - sharp as metal.

The days are sunny as sunflowers,
And the squint in your eye is tighter than usual,
Slits so fine I see horizon lines across the ocean
When you smile.

The days are honey, syrupy thick,
Eggs runny,
Just the way you said you like them
That day we wrote poems over brunch,
The ground, blazing raw,
Where bare feet are pricked by the heat of a 
Sizzling skillet,
Like the day we burned the bacon before work. 

Stretched as roads, drunk on a daylight
That won't let go of the hours,
These days are long and funny,
The way we latch to you so easily, the sun and I, 
Your skin so quick to blister,
Makes me wonder how you adapt to me so well,
The cool of your shades shelter these veins that carry an island
With the ease of an Indian Summer,
And you remain like the days,
Flawlessly radiant and sunny as sunflowers.

-LBCH

Meditation

Listen 
to the rain
plummet constant as minutes,
dive steady as our breaths,
the pumps in our beats,
drops
dripping on skin
over faces white as cotton fields, 
and brown as sodden soil alike,
over scalps bald, soft as pillows, 
or hardened ripe with age. 

Listen
as it hammers like a tired woodpecker,
to the tack before the trickle,
the hush before the shower, 
this rain you've known for years, 
connected constellations, 
drawn melting hearts, 
traced watery stars on windows, 
steady as breaths. 

Listen 
to it pass,
and come again.

-LBCH

I am searching for you in this sunlight of honey, the soothing warmth and the fifty degrees of the virginal breeze, the rhythm of wires, like belts, in a backdrop of motion, abandoned tires and telephone poles, like a row of old crosses, the water rings, river halos, the golden quaver of the melting afternoon, wavered by today's benign wind, like curious fingers tracing skin, the dull print of the moon, visible still, or visible already. I am searching for you in the cloud's design, brush strokes of air adorning the sky, like angel breath, boundless spaces, the faces of strangers sitting on each seat, the lyrics of songs I play on repeat, I listen for your name in the call of the train approaching the station, like the song of sirens, each stop a new syllable, codes like bible symbols, the howl of the breaks grinding the tracks like anxiety attacks. I stop. I am searching for you, but don't know what to find. You are already mine. 

-LBCH

For my girl who likes to dream of a house by the sea

Listen to the breeze, 
The dry branches scraping our kitchen window, 
Coyly, like the cat scratching the leg of the couch, 
Or the sound of little racoon paws on the back porch.
It is particularly windy this afternoon, I meant to mention
With my hands dipped
Into soapy water, 
And you holding me from behind, 
Laying kisses on my nape,
(Those lips I'd know as mine if I were blind)
But the tide had just risen, 
The white foam splashed the rocky shore, 
And I could almost hear waves fizzle like champagne
As they slid back into the ocean, sucked like magnets into the deep
     So out of respect I let them speak. 

The house smells of sea salt, cinnamon, 
And cookies that I let burn slightly in the oven. 
Forgive me; 
You looked so peaceful going through your photographs, 
Crouched on the wooden floor, arranging prints like puzzle pieces, 
A dim spear of light piercing you softly, a sun shooting its last arrow 
On this cold and cloudy day, 
That I forgot time existed, 
And resisted to tell you it was a quarter past the hour. 

The cork just popped, and the can just cracked open, 
And we sit by the chimney watching logs turn into flames. 
The sparks became dancers in your irises, I noticed, 
Like in tribal ceremonies; 
Your look is concentrated, yet serene, 
And I can't get myself to intervene and ask what you're thinking, 
And if colors look brighter 
With eyes ablaze. 
I know that I will love you always, I meant to mention, 
But a melon moon just started growing in the sky, 
Still a shadowy trace, and the night started to seep, 
     So out of respect I let them speak. 
LBCH

Life trembled
Within her, like an interrupted
Volcano, 
A ruptured, ravenous beast, 
Erupted - Pleasure - 
Passion, 
Pressure pushing heat inside her - 
Love - like lava, boiling
Beat by beat
           Life within her 
           Trembled
With splendored madness,
Courage combusted
Like Color in spring, 
Her restless feet danced
Wild, her arms opened like flowers, 
Dignified, like distended flags, 
A New Woman welcoming 
An ancient sunrise
Composing the tempo of a
New time
            "I will not admit defeat"
             Dance and repeat
            "I will not admit defeat" 
LBCH

It's the routine
Of the day by day
The Q like a rocket,
An express machine
Surfaces from the dark
Like a submarine, 
An enormous whale, 
Surfing the afternoon, now bluer with winter, 
Gliding past buildings,
Their windows lit
Like bright eyes
That must have seen our faces, 
And a thousand expressions
With no surprise, 
Silent observers
Of the ancient cycle, 
Living our lives
Under train times
Transfers, delays
Subways with no commitments.
We look up from our phones
Reassured of a world outside the doors, 
A last breath
Before we get swallowed by the tunnel. 
LBCH

First snow

The fog hugged the sky like a heavy blanket. Outside, the habitual blaring of the Brooklyn Boulevard - the sirens, the hurtling tires and impatient horns - was suddenly muffled, as if the day had finally covered its ears to the world. The lazy lovers laid in bed expectantly, their hearts soft, their eager bodies palpitating to the rhythm of a fresh romance. Each whimpering waft, every rustling leaf indicated its advent, like the hump of an ocean wave making its way from the distance. They held each other in silence, each second suspended in the anticipation of an important arrival. She drew the curtain aside, and just like that, as calm and angelic as the lullaby of a new mother, came the snow once again. 

-LBCH