Dear Lover,

This distance leaves distaste, left misplaced, double-takes.
Another chance, service you with no second glance.
Deflowered your writhing, vicarious pose,
held within my palms, no longer your own.
Breaking speed of the sound barrier ahead,
carnal disruption, fully complicit instead.

Disruption and chaos, the lovely discord.
Grapes for lilacs, drunken flesh, burgeoning pores.
Back to the well to partake, those who desire more.
Cheeks balefully flush, blankets scatter the floor.

Anticipate

Explore

My identity seems to change with the scenery.
Graphics in moonlight, supple skin, no bystanders in plain sight.
Fingers on your waist, preparing for a taste

Anticipate

Sleep with me on this carpeted floor, and when you beg,
I’ll give and give until I’m used up. It’s what I’m here for.
No need to call me.

Satisified, I won’t be inside you any more.

Reborn

Once the Sky, Now Mine

Take a moment to catch your breath.
Blow that last wisp of air against my neck.
Guide my hand under the sheen of your guise,
don’t hide your smile, your lips were meant to please mine.

The curved silhouette, your scent, hanging long, removed from this space.
The touch of patchwork memories, wanting, longing, overcome by your face.
Working under an emblazoned sky, until the end of time…

Life Cycle of a Morning

Stagnation, roll up your sleeves, no one sees you when you hide.
And I don’t care if you redefine yourself, using crayons to color your outsides.
Smiles and lines, contours smothering air, humid and stank, leaving the room after a night of lust, spread legs and pillow talk, vitriol words that hang,
distilling into sleep or dreams, between sleep apnea and lost sentiment coming apart at the seams.
Nobody sees you but me, the real you and hypothetical me,
flogging the morning hours, a fly circles overhead and the slow drip of coffee.

This beautiful morning needs to be imperfect– we love each other for the same purpose, reminders; sandman- clean out your eyes and kiss me with your morning breath,
my lips are dry and the clamminess of skin leaving out its last sweat.

This perfect morning, piggy-backing the quiet, save for the ‘buzz’ of a fly mother who lost her maggots, coasting past the morning newspaper, poverty, shootings- things you just can’t relate to.
People who live in the skids, broke bank accts. and blistered families, burned out– so wasted.

Oblivion makes it’s case.
Compound eyes shoot a glance my way
There’s nothing left to save but face.
The lifespan of a fly and my own kids close by
as I drift back to a less complicated place.