likes.

a solid, uncomfortable gaze.
cuddling.
laugh lines.
yellow light of candles.
wine.
well-made stationary.
smell of new books.
legs in a mini skirt.
loose sleeves.
dogs.
semisweet chai.
forearms.
the sound of cable snapping.

to two loves.

the moon behind the clouds on a sunny day...a bittersweet vestige of night hangs captive...

in the plane i watched you both until the mist in the sky was too much. Maybe it was the mist in my eyes. I can't tell and it doesn't matter. Suddenly aching in the places I played. Home is a faraway memory ready to come back full center. Focus forward my heart stays behind craving a simplicity I can't seem to allow myself to seek. A simple poetry in the simultaneous distance and proximity between you. And even though I'm only on vacation there is a tug of war between the two of you, and here and home. In a short time the island will be the memory and home will be the present. But I feel here more often the kind of woman I want to be and a different one to each of you. How much is true and how much is emotional residue I can't separate but saying goodbye seems only harder the second time.

I never told you but I sat by the truck while you locked up the adega. I inhaled the crisp ocean air and licked the salt from my lips. It was a small moment yet somehow I sensed things are going to change before the next time. Something much bigger that I cannot or will not be willing to overcome. Mabye that change will be with one of you. And you're both right about no promises and I make none to you. But that won't keep me from tucking a little piece of each of you as you are now as I am now in a memory box that will hover like the moon in the clouds -- a lingering vestige of night times past. com saudades. siempre.

A new audience...an old soul.

to the new one who's reading, wanted to share with you (and notice the nicknames that tie in so well tonight!!!!):

Lolita, light of my life, fire of my loins. My sin, my soul. Lo-lee-ta: the tip of the tongue taking a trip of three steps down the palate to tap, at three, on the teeth. Lo. Lee. Ta.

She was Lo, plain Lo, in the morning, standing four feet ten in one sock. She was Lola in slacks. She was Dolly at school. She was Dolores on the dotted lines. But in my arms she was always Lolita.

More to come.