Category: Poetry

Words, the blood of poets. Slick, wet, hot, pouring over the page in a curtain of sultry satin red.

blank spaces

what if all the blank spaces
are just hiding places
for my devils?

and I fill this page with words
to overturn their homes
pluck them by their wings
and make them mine again

never enough

There is not enough of you.

Not enough of the special brand of mischief
your eyes promise.

Not enough of your promiscuous laugh
that has made itself so comfortably at home in my heart.

Not enough of your crooked smile,
or the map of your thighs in the morning
a lazy but confident promise
if only
I will stay in bed.

There is not enough of you.

so I stole your shadow from a sunny day
to shade me while I read

I convinced your reflection to follow me home
and watch me as I write.

There is not enough of you,
so I will write you into a line,
a poem
a book
a dream.

hungry heart

there was a moment
when her eyes
met mine
that I
knew

she would be
poised
parted
and
perfect

I would know her
through her
beautiful eyes

and she would know me
through
my
hungry heart

sins of the map-maker

I know your curves.
I learned them the best way possible.
by touch and by taste.
with time and with hunger.
deliberate and slow.
swift and sure.

I mapped the contours of your body with intent and your curves remember me well; strong hands and parted lips left landmarks.

I left my poetry between your thighs and my scent upon your skin.

you are known, but not discovered; there are secrets left in the cleft of your thighs, and the rising rhythm of your breathe.

I know your curves.

But I want to know them better.

goddess

golden aura
laughing eyes
and you
so perfectly
naked
and
divine

radiance as raiment
which is nothing at all
your bared self
is
a miracle
of beauty

the laughter of gods

thunder.

I wait for it, window open, clove between two fingers, whiskey like gasoline at hand.

thunder is a pulse

metallic scent, soft rain, and then –

heartbeat

thunder. Thunder. THUNDER.