i think i will...

spread these explosions of willing joy
across the mothering sky-
i am tapered in sight
but not in mind-
and now i can smile.

i think i will..
for a long, long while.

quaint tragedy

wet sunday
we are dozy
after the resting..

and the inhaling,

and stranger, i am deep,
when i think of you,

i try to match my reflection,
with the subtle nuances of evening -
but i am left blue..

now that i am in love -
wet sunday,
whatever are we to do?

fest

transatlantic rush
when i caught the bus
saw your reflection
and an onslaught of lust
found my twenties turned to thirties
and now i'm begging,
don't leave me hopefully unrequited
and hopelessly lonely
listening to your music
the heavy guitar, sing
and the sound of 48 screaming cells
beneath my body..

a pop-punk sort of unholy.

michigan

starlight drips waxily
across my bedsheets...
the window,
a peephole to the bedchamber of forever,
opens wide
and outside
the meteors
row across the river of night
like tired souls across the river Styx

Linger

that morning in our makeshift bed
-the first time-
rain snuck in over our restless heads
tapping along the sides of the tent

you shifted,
arousing from your slumber,
to linger with me
soft and slowly;
our faint silhouettes dancing
as the rain faded
and morning rose through the mist

and in the darkness
the next night
our bodies arrested in delight-

and further still
we are weeks removed
from each others company
and i still feel your gentle press
against my thighs
against my chest

against my heart...

slippery when wet

Synthetic saturation
Led the way… her soul seeking
Ingression on the long forbidden
Path, sliding past barriers with lubricous ease…
Perpetuating a union of
Enervated emotions- I
Rocked gently against her hand, her thigh
Yearning for a release from

Within those wet walls that began wildly
Humming, whirring… an
Electric current building from the
Narrow caverns of my body…

We wallowed in the bliss-
Emerging
Thread bare on bare threads…

rising and falling

night fades in
teasing and taunting,
sleep seems to be elusive

we whisper
through the trees
and you wrap me in your arms

we are so close
there is a danger
of losing ourselves
in the darkness
stars still shine,
in the distance
songs swell in celestial harmony

eyes closed
your lips trace hills by touch
and memory...

longing swells to slow motion force
and I lose myself
in dark places somewhere
in the middle of you

rising and falling
through moon and mist

torch

I like my body when
it is under you, skin luminous
with morning -

balmy kisses move
over giving flesh.
You trail down, holding

a candle in long-fingered hands
dripping wax and spilling light
flush lips.

I love the way you bend and blush,
with heatjoy...
Taking you like summer takes spring into

shaking hands
always reading futures
of spilled wax and guttered light--

hands that know
how to comfort
when I

am burning
under
you.

first time

adopting a tongueless language
of bodies moving nervously in the night
we explore the new landscape
feeling out the terrain
to decipher the legend...

time ticks on
taunting and teasing
while you are silently pleasing...
and we
collapse into place.

we all learn how to adapt.

snails

tread carefully
the night is full of snails;
hobble backed abhorances
making their slow pilgrimage
on the shoulders of grass blades...
small and emerging,
surveying the starless night
they are the only sound

depositing trails of nuptial vows behind them
kissing trudge, stomach born,
the moon slips down like a child sneaking out
barefoot among the trembling foragers
with extended baton eyes

tongueless language
grouping together captives on the porchsteps
dutifully crawling
like gentle mouthing,
gentle breathing,
silent, cornered, creatures
they conduct their blind courtship

daystage dance: michigan

snatch and slink of the trumpets
The hot august dance floor
breathing in and out under our feet
and you,
you smell of lavender and sweat
your smile exposed-
outside the moon tilts her head
and thinly smiles
like the old portraits of weak-chinned, urn-bodied women
with high foreheads
and breakable hands
ready to break free

the people around us swell
spit valves open
and that tall bass player
grows her note in the gloom;
moist and gagging like greenhouse flowers....

sift

Lay me upon your table
Sift through me
Like mail
Search me for meaning
And tumble over me with your eyes,
Your fingers...
There’s too much,
Not enough,
Take in,
Pull out.
Linger with me
Like a lover's letter...
Leave no invitation
U n o p e n e d.

the beginning

traversing trails through the caliginous haze-
treading translations with trepidation…
staggering over stones…
stammering and starry-eyed, stumbling, stalling-

until she candidly called for clarity and the paradigm s h i f t e d…
her request was requited without hesitation…
leading us to revel in the carnal discretions
our souls were craving...

caving in
to longing lips
lingering…
lusting hips
fingering
our way through
the deep chasms
trusting…
until it was settled,
we had arrived.

Borrowed Time...

you tell me to remember,
but how could I forget...

our bodies
enmeshed
entangled
wet...
a lovers dance
like Klimt's "Kiss"
tongues exact and explicit
forbidden,
like eve's fruit
but we made no apologies...

and I looked up the length of your body
from the concave of your stomach-
just above your hips-
to your breasts
where they touched the landscape
and just then your back arched
reaching for the horizon-
I felt your pulse quickening
and we came
under the light of an esoteric moon-
wishing the morning away,
because it would end our borrowed time...

and time s l o w e d -
just long enough for us
to enjoy each other

one
more
time...

Do you remember?

phyre

Shall we start a fire all along
your equator or your meridian,
using your fingers as wooden logs
and my lips of sparking flints?

As our eyes haze over
with the hiss of panting,
will we catch the scent
of our skin blooming in fire?

And what will we say
in the moment? Our
tongues would crackle
like Egyptian parchment.

While the eyelash singes
and the tongue sizzles-
a wet thumb against
a hot iron and the breath
escapes our chest,

Will we remember
that we hold no links
to perpetual Phoenixes?

In the midst of our collapse,
will we look to the ceiling-
or will we fall from the bed
scattering away from each other?

And as the flames quiet down
just like a phantom fire
dying in the middle
of the forest,
we will lie tranquil

Only hoping
that in the silence
of our ashen stillness,
we can learn to speak,
with tongues
of rising smoke.