Above the Waist

Your fiery tickle

Above the waist, in cream lace
Rolling in pleasure

Unleashing Desire

Unleashing desire

My water spilled twice today
No man left untouched

Purge Puddle

This urgent birthing,
I require words for,
which would outline its origin,
contain its meaning,
explicate its reasons.
Except, none of this exists.

Only the sensation,
hunched over in preparedness,
relentlessly contracting organs,
and the relieving movement
as the effort comes hurling forth,
a reverse slide of wet color.

This, its only known connection to words.

Reasons to Cry Over Spilt Milk

Spill me like a plastic pail of milk,
reluctantly spreading its rounded reach.
Surface tension momentum
until, relieved, it cascades into a crack,
into place, as by design.

With its path precise now,
it effortlessly courses,
forging its extent further than before.
A rebellious backsplash leaves its mark outside the line,
a reminder of a time once beautiful,
"accidental" fruitfulness.
Where admirers congregate,
surrounding the tiny droplets,
projecting their dreams upon its shape.

Does this serve you, my friend?
Or else, what is it good for?

Amplified

Electric shock of .you're alone. sits stinging,
radiating panic of a time past,
new born, still unable to crawl,
dying of deprivation,
dependent on the world of your touch.
Engulfed, this is my reality.

This. Meshed with a watery clean container,
inviting this process,
a safe place to feel unsafe.
My entire body brimming with buzz,
This electricity feels terrorizing, traumatic.
I feel dangerous here,
like i could break my neck convulsing at high-voltage.


I am like a fish, still alive,
while parts of me cook at high temperatures.
How terrifying, to witness
the transformation of one's own flesh.

I switch to the widest channel:
comforting Mother, stroking my head.
The more courage i walk with,
the closer She caresses me.

Its All About Timing

I'd hate to lose you, but its about the timing,
Pressed petals on a silver lining.

Smile and wave hi.bye
A terrifying fly by
The clouds here zoom past
My face at an alarmingly fast pace.

Incapable Tuesday shows up on Thursday,
And patterns collide, midair.
Rearranged heart pangs.
Clarified chaos, shocks like
A jujube stuck in the throat.
Keep your thoughts up where I can see 'em.

Shouldn't gifts be fun to give?
Like a bright fuchsia dino in cellophane.

Spiral Muse

Joyfully glittered tresses and dirt caked cuticles scramble onto the spiral path. She feigns rabid dog,

While harmless lime armies reign conveyor belts, no sign of march, nor heart, relenting.

A lioness in pearls lays, lengthened and propped, coiffed and coutured, enjoying perfumed fine furnishings. While secretly starving, she patiently reacquaints herself with the depths of her den.

A rising in me rinses my face clean like a Mother with a wash cloth, delicately deepening my tender experience.

The late night cars announce themselves below my window in a discourse I digest. If only they would remark back to me, or if only I could speak their language,

this Love might be witnessed.

The crest of a wave with a wish seizes skyward, almost breaking free, only to resentfully recoil back into the vast container of connection which created it.