Suggestions?

[borrowed-hearts.livejournal.com]

Hello all!

I'm looking for some poems for my girlfriend and I was hoping for a little help in picking them out. I've gone through the entire community, perusing all the different poems that have been posted, and while I've picked out quite a few to save for her, I'd like a few more.

I'd really love some suggestions for poems that are either lesbian orientated, or about missing someone who is far away. She's also a big fan of Andrea Gibson, so anything by her would be utter love.

Thanks in advance, and I look forward to your opinions!

lillian gish goes to hell; richard siken

[operatingroom.livejournal.com]

But she has been there before, has a suite
in fact, where she can swan and collapse
on a series of fainting couches: velveteen,
plush, gem-colored. In 1913, during the
production of A Good Little Devil, Lillian
collapsed from anemia. She took delight in
suffering for art. Although not a religious
man, Sartre was fascinated by suffering
as well, said Hell is other people and meant it.
Some like to suffer and some try to eliminate
desire. Buddha, God bless him, had a great
idea: whatever is subject to change is subject to
suffering. But let’s face it, he was fat and sat
around in his underwear, while we delight
in changing our wardrobes. You, terrible
in your solitude. Me, ruined and desperate
in my cowboy shirt with the pearly buttons
and significant stitching. We can suffer with
the best of them, Lil, effortlessly working off
our karma as the drunken father breaks down
the wooden door, or we roam, dying, through
the streets of Montmartre. I am no stranger
to love and I am not waiting for you, because
I believe we will be reborn, because I believe
everything, and I believe that we will meet
again and suffer together again. The future
belongs to China and yet I want to learn
French. This, too, is another kind of suffering.
Once, at a truck stop, I ate an entire banana
cream pie and half a pound of bacon, which
is a kind of suffering for some, but I felt
fucking great. You know this, you must know
this. We are lovely and full of desire, we die
so many times and come back here, to cross
paths. I didn’t fall off the roof, I was pushed.
I want neither revenge nor relief. I crave no
rescue. What I want, Lillian, is to be gigantic
and perfectly lit, to be with you again, carnal
in our reincarnation. The future will find us
handsome taikonauts in a small ship spinning
out of control, flawed by love and plunging
realistically toward the heart of a hellish sun.
In the future we will suffer together in outer
space and eat crème brûlée out of a silver tube.
The novelty never wears off, Lil. It never does.

Sylvia Gaboudikian, "What I Notice"

[the-grynne.livejournal.com]

WHAT I NOTICE

You ignite
it, hold it
lightly,
as if to
show
something
about us
you want
me to know.
You exhale
warmth
that would
burn me,
flicking
ash,
breathing
slowly,
out of
habit,
just to
pass
time,
alleviating
boredom.
You don't
inhale
but put it
down
to forget
and fail
to finish,

smoking
only part
of each
cigarette.


SYLVIA GABOUDIKIAN

Translated from the Armenian by Diana Der-Hovanessian