Reading the Tides

my love(r). 
it seems the tide has left us
castaways.  adrift in each other's presence.  
we have the beach to ourselves. 
the southern sunset winds playing games with your hair.  now
the forests of mangroves - melt into a single undulating shape.
  suspended.   hammocks.  linger
and we too.  in them. 
   your skin is pastel, delicate. 
 hidden beneath the shadows
of passing clouds,  late.  afternoon sunlight falls itermittantly upon your face
and between your eyes.
 inspiration for the heart.
your fingers loosly brush. your cheeks blush
as I stroll
along. 
by the way.   your name looks lovely scrolled
along my pages.
   we write each other down. 
and I take notes.
   of the way your lips seems to pry me away from my solitude
of the way.
your laugh reminds me of navy blue. jellyfish. dancing..
    waves spread from your lagoons


Andrew Tipton
    
 

The Voodoo

I'm fifty stories up
screaming at the moon over Vegas,
ROARING.  with a whiskey in a fist.
sprawled out before me, like an eager gift
for my mouth
licks it up, laps the juice off the neon signs
totally nude
she asks to join me. and then I do. 
I have no use for these blaring lights
or your fascination
with sex. you all
will find that there is muchness buried here.
tucked away in the ballrooms and in
the tattoo shops.  where dancing turns
into affection, and affection
into love.
I only want to chew the stains off my
collar tonight
and breed
contempt for the girls
walking, heels in hand
their dirty bare feet
 scraping the pavement. 


Andrew Tipton

The Waves on 38th

when we met
I imagined you soaking wet. 
pale skin, unbleached
hair. breasts and the perfect shape
for an imagination. 
red tangles, 
and yerba matte tea.
steam. 
coffee house sex.ual
thoughts. like civil wars  
you have caused inner conflict.
in me.
here I am,  the dissolved
fierce, quiet, and sleepless,
choked on the lessons
of hope and losing to vast open spaces.
I want to disappear into the mists
and yet you bring me back
for a second cup. 
I see through your eyes, these
eyes hide your truth.  that you
were born like me, to rule
and not be infinitely dormant.
you know this,  and you wear it like a scar on your inner wrist.   
unsharpened. yearning for an edge. a cut.
I want to puncture you. 
spirit animal. asleep. dreaming
of itself.  the day, it wakens to belief:
  stretches her wings.
  spreads her legs,
  licks her mouth
  in front of me.  for me. toward me. 
I called you
out.
to the sea. see me.
in my state of obstinate happiness.
we're both going to play
like lions. 
Aries surfer fire starters.
the ocean is a blaze.     
your violence is inevitable.
these waves are frightened
because of us. 
and it pulls
the gravity out of my shoulders.
back into my soul.
I am falling.
again. in my love affair
with the universe. 




Andrew Tipton

now, that I know you

I remember,
someone said you looked beautiful
and I laughed
because you seemed,
only beautiful. until we met,
I didn't know you wrote poetry
or
that you could speak
about greatness with your knees
tucked under your chin.






Andrew Tipton

/favorites of the week

Libra,rian

Legs crossed,
lips pressed together
  I love
the way you speak
with unconventional angles,
 perfect rights
and twenty-fives.
you are a rose garden, plants
in unpredictable rows,
narrow, slim, trimmed,
fingers pressed together, in
anxious sincerity. 
I love the way you take up small spaces
the perfect
awkwardness and poise
that seem to envelope you
as you sit
facing away from me.
I am making notes of your body's
language..
reading between your lines.
-closed book, covers drawn
-leather bound journal
- adult fiction

you remind me
of
a pretty word,
"Alchemy" or "Misconstrue"
or..
pages from a diary,
discreetly hidden, yet
born from passionate
thoughts. 
 I see myself
in the reflections of your Librarian's glasses
they keep the warmth and curiosity
of your eyes
guarded
"shhhhh...  I am a Librarian" -  they tell the world.
keeper of the books and stories,
goddess of the poems and silences,
but..
I noticed the way you love a good conflict,
the way
you come, for the protagonist.
I feel
those little hands and bundled legs and thin lips
are wound tightly around a wild heart,
that
deep within the dusty shelves of your mind,
you dream of the visceral.
same as me.
 



Andrew Tipton

Tantra

showering at dawn,
sharing, each other,s'
bamboo.shoots warmth-water
washes off our clothes. till we're only
wearing each others wet. skin
drips
naked. swagger,
stroll together
natural.ly we sip homemade wine,.
she licks down the neck.of my bottle
delighted. I feel intoxicated
just standing here. admiring
our bodies.
our eyes are travellers, too
wandering
to each other's. minds
opened. deliberately
begining unspoken conversations
with our presence.
last night
you wrote scriptures on my spine
while I painted
'goodness' around her navel
and feathers on her
ankles. and then
vaguely, with strings between my fingers
and flames in my eyes, I felt the momentum of our dance, in every direction rumbling.
flesh grazing gently. sparks. where our silhouettes touched. briefly
you were only wearing a headdress
reciting invitations, offering hymns
.beckoning me
to follow.



Andrew Tipton