geeksusie

Hey everyone,
Yes, I am back. I did miss all of you, and all of the B&H (boobs & hiney). To be honest, I must thank one person for my return. My mom. This might sound pretty trailer park, but my subscription renewal was a birthday present from her. So, thank you mom!
Some things have happened since my departure. I have aged a bit. I am now 28. I also got a promotion at work. I am now the Director of Information Technology at my place of employment. It involves a lot more responsibility, so I have found myself dropping a lot more F bombs than I used to.
I know there is a lot more that I want to say right now, but I will save that for future blogs.
Oooh! One more thing. I am teaching myself French! Right now I am pretty bad, but I am getting better. Maybe one of my future blogs will be in French!
No booby breaks this week. I just wanted to say hi to everyone. I do, however, have a couple of poems. Don't tell me you were hoping I forgot about that! lol
Well, hope you like them anyway.


need

I am a volcano,
frozen embers rising
like vapor to the surface
of my skin.

I am bottled within.
I can feel my cells
as they are mesmerized
by you. Just looking
makes my muscles
crave movement.

I ache to hold.
I feel like I am running
inside. Circulation at a leopards
pace, as I race to be within inches
of your gaze.

This hunger never seems to end.
Holding fire
always seems to burn,
and yet it tries to lick,
gently, at my skin.

I am a volcano
thawing, growing numb
with need. And yet, you are nowhere
to be seen. I havent met you yet.

I do not know your face,
but I do know what sets you apart
my heart and the warmth
you bring to me.


migration
The subway migrates daily:
Bronx to Brooklyn, Manhattan to Queens.
Round trip is lengthened by pit stops
at nearby concrete conifers.
A platform which raises our senses
to the clickety-clack rhythm,
beating wheels against steel.
The subway is an airplane
with clipped wings,
monitored underground.
Hibernating from city sounds,
a cavern which holds the cold,
amplifies the heat,
and can become over-
saturated with the dew
of dusty mornings.
Altos and Sopranos voices take turns
reminding us to mind the gap,
between ourselves and this wild-thing
which threatens (upon instruction)
to snap a limb or elbow off,
if we do not stand clear.
But as it rattles,
my number one flies, shoots
like a rocket, propelled
by mechanical impulses.
Through the tube, the cage that has yet
to be broken, that has yet to
release my # 1.

Okay, I lied. Here is a boobie break!