Friday, December 9, 2011

Fallen Angel

is how they found you
mouth full of brambles
the rub of matches
against your knuckles
with rocks pillowing your limbs
in the blind tangle
of falling.
hate is a dirty bruise
left at your temples
the crucifixion of words
pressed like stones
into your wounds
where blind awe
runs deep like blood.

Wednesday, December 7, 2011


The feel of you -
apple tart and wet
where we rolled in fresh cut grass,
and traced rain on leaves
and each other.
You taste like what I wanted
but couldn't ask for
and the poetry of your bones
blooms warm and wild
in the bright eclipse of clean.

Monday, December 5, 2011

Chance Meeting

It starts at lunch -
cold white wine that
tastes like spring
and loosens tongues
and leads to a brush
of skin that lingers,
and lengthens into an afternoon
where your hair tumbles down
and your smile
curls into kisses
while our bodies lurch
in unexpected collision
and my fingers fumble
over tight little buttons -
the impatient heave of fabric
parting skirt from shirt
as your back molds to my hands,
your hips a deliberate tease
pivoted against my own.
your breath hitches - a hot little sigh
fanning my cheek,
urging me to discover and explore
a world spread against my fingertips
impatient to be conquered.

Sunday, December 4, 2011


Creeping into my bed at dawn,
the orbit between your thighs
pinions my hips
like a saddle.
Soft, supple leather,
tooled and worked,
sliding down on me
in greedy gasps
of damp skin
and dark secrets
that leave scars.
My fingers tear into you
and unfold your heat
, fine tuning the friction of our skin,
rubbed raw
against the silk sheets.

Friday, December 2, 2011

Private Music

I want to explore
the whys, wheres and whats
of your body.
I want to taste them ripple
like silver
and bee stung roses
under my tongue,
piquing a sharp taste for more.
I want to feel heat rise in your cheeks
and spread over your breasts,
lazy notes
rolling down the sweet cleft of your thighs,
arching under your hips
and spreading in an fan under me.
I want to pluck mysteries
from the wisps of silk
that cling to warm skin,
and gently tear away secrets
curled under the sheets
that run against my body
in a soft riot of your music.
I want to play you,
run you out
and unstring you
note by note,
treble and gentle drum roll

and rattle this night drenched world...

Wednesday, November 30, 2011

Night Bloom

Night's friction moves slowly,
grows warm and thick -
running under your skin
and bruising your limbs
that buckle like soft leather
under my fingers
and chafing me
rough and jagged
in all the right places.
I can taste midsummer dreams on your lips,
stung and swollen with quicksilver -
full moons and crescent stars
moon shine in copper jars
and the rich, ripe blaze of nightshade
creeping over your thighs.
And under your hips,
tendrils trap my fingers,
forcing them into your crevices
where you bloom
hot and exotic

Monday, November 28, 2011

Ladies spinning parasols
feet cocooned like lotus
against the water
rising over
the slow wood road
find their way down hill
to market.
Their fingers spill coins
across tile tables
for tea and cakes
and ice as sweet as children,
to savor over stories
their mothers once told
each other
in the garden
where jade bushes bent
to greet the peacocks
in the long spring evenings.
They move like mantis,
lithe and sharp,
among the treasure stalls -
paper fans blushing the air
like a bolt of silk
raising them to the sky,
plucking ivory combs
and watching spice
bite the afternoon
in little pieces.
And their pale cheeks glow
soft as mothsong
their lips saffron sung
over secrets
and time away from men
as they turn their backs
on the crowd
hair lifting their scent
and make their way


Tuesday, November 22, 2011


The boy took out a silver hook
and fastened it to a cobweb
and cast it across the summer night,
hoping for a prize
that he could tuck into his pocket
and put under his pillow
to dream upon.
He wanted to hear ghost stories
and taste wild strawberries
and swim in water so cold and clear
it would dapple his skin blue and make him shiver.
He wanted to catch starfish
and dig for stone crabs under the pier
and eat snow cones until he burst,
painting the night cherry red
with firecrackers.
He wanted to know the colors of an August moon
and touch the sharp edges of stars
and just for one night
to own the sky...

Monday, November 21, 2011

Into the Woods

The world looks
very different today -
the old cabin
by the creek
has moved once more,
taken itself to higher ground,
and the deer have left
to haunt the hollow,
their haunches quivering
like rising sap.

We venture out, knowing
we will lose our way again,
waiting for dogs
to ambush our feet
as we cut a path
through the sumac
and watch
the reeds breathe minnows
through the cold blister of water
rushing through the trees.

Your hand closes,
a lonely animal in mine,
and the leaves
can smell our fear
thick as spoor
while we pick our way
through the thickening blur
of green,
wondering which way
is true north.

Friday, November 18, 2011


Her night awaited no one.
There was no impatient fist
hovered at her door,
begging to be let in;
no man-smile
left lurking in the mirror
or perched on the rims of tea cups,
asking for another chance;
only the solitary counsel
of bedroom breaching midnight.
But her shoes still languished
under the bed,
hushed leather heels
dreaming of Barcelona,
and black net crinolines
with beads that snaked
around a lover's throat
like a soft tirade of amber

left defiant on her pillow.

Thursday, November 17, 2011


Driftwood -
skeleton maw
wraps talon-like
around the mist
as if begging
for a favor,
so smooth and sharp
bleached bare by August -
a mermaid's rib
rubs salt from sand,
the battering lilt of seagulls
beating time
against the summer sun.

Monday, November 14, 2011

Gypsy Heart

Night folds its thin black line
and settles back
to wait in a quiet corner
where stars turn their attention
to children collecting wishes
like fireflies in jars.
Hopes drop one by one,
making themselves known only to hearts
that dare to wear a disguise
and place wagers on unsafe dreams.

You weigh my consequences in the balance
where your thigh
curls to meet your hip,
and make it my undoing.
A dangerous trick,
no doubt taught to you
by a Traveler who watched you twirl
your gypsy smile around his heart
in a swirl of bright autumn silk
that kissed the surface
of lives you never knew.

My restless fingers
take your measure
and pluck your resolutions
stitch by stitch,
watching them fall to the floor
as your skin whispers
it impatience against mine
and the rise of your breasts
cupped against my chest
is the violent admission of surrender.

Saturday, November 12, 2011


drive, he said -
take me to the open road
my father knew, and i will build a home
upon my back.
i shall call it dare
and make its bricks from red georgia clay
and fashion windows and doors
from white birch.
i will paint the ceilings haint
like the cloth my mother wrapped me in
and learn to wash what is left behind
after the cooling rains.
i shall make boats from leaves
to soothe the heat -
the secret life of water
in my name,
and i will wander through
this slow bounty
like a valley of souls.

Friday, November 11, 2011

White Organza

Your face
white organza
and the shiver of lilies
breaking bloom
on your lips.

I taste oleander
and sweet clematis
vining your skin
under the pale of your blouse
where spring lingers
in a tremble

Tuesday, November 8, 2011

Edinburgh, Scotland

Late Summer Evening

Summer dwindles
and cools her heels in courtyard corners -
ducking behind sand dunes,
counting scarlet leaves
and harvest moons
in warm breaths off the gulf.
Ochre glints in the grass
where monarchs hold court
and dapple the air
with new wings.
And in the distance,
the hurdy gurdy ice cream man
kilters, truck careening,
chasing down the dusk
as children play tag
through sprinklers in the dying light.
Mothers unpin ghosts from clothes lines
and gather on porch swings
to sip Scuppernog and trade secrets
while street lamps spark to attention
their soft halos melting
into mottled green and black
where fireflies vie for attention
and pale white moths laze across spun gold...

Sunday, November 6, 2011


A wrought iron balcony,
overgrown with jasmine
frames the summer evening,
pulls magic from doorways
and sends it spinning into the wanton dark
with a clatter of glass beads
and raw red saxophone.

Voodoo heat bleeds out low and blue,
bubbles under door sills
and over window ledges
to set the city humming.
The jazz blast of feet on cobblestones -
a parade of tourists,
washed in summer and silk
shake graveyard dust from their shoes
and disappear into the long, languid dark
among the palm readers and card tricksters
crouched in the curl of a summer dream.

The warm slit of night beckons me,
welcomes me with open arms
and leads me to where you ponder enchantment -
your moon slashed eyes half closed on the world,
taking in its secrets between sips
of rum laced coffee and heavy cream.
Your cheeks spangled like carnival glass
in every hue of my desire,
sweat beaded up like tiny pearls on toffee skin.

Leaning in, I taste taboos from your tongue
that sear my mouth with the pent up heat
of your body unfolding over mine.
and the night, startled by my impudent touch,
runs down the sky in satin ribbons.

Saturday, November 5, 2011

Blue Coda

Stocks used:

Friday, November 4, 2011

August Moon

There are nights even now
that I long to crack the moon
against your heart
and watch it trickle
through your smile,
wrapping its thin ghost fingers
in the riot of your hair
that spills across my pillow
like the lazy demolition of a summer evening -
our clothes sticky sweet with sweat
clinging in whispers
coming undone in layers
your skin running riot over mine
imploring the stars to pin the night
and hold it close
in the sky above us.

Thursday, November 3, 2011

Fever Dream

Your body is a fierce message
poised and waiting
for the tip of my tongue
to trip ove
r and tie in knots -
slipping words like silken cords,
twisting meaning until
it is rough hewn and dangerous,
and jolts the night awake beneath me.
You know the letters -
they spill from your lips
and feed my impudent dreams
and haunt my skin,
where you creep like fever
along my chest
, making your way
down my thighs
, pinioned like dark stars
under the sweet weight
of your whispers.

Wednesday, November 2, 2011

Tuesday, November 1, 2011

Shake Down the Night

The sweet violence we commit
when there are no witnesses -
where heat snaps the night in two
and runs down your back.
and my hips hold you prisoner,
pressed against the cool brick
spreading you open to me -
my language primitive with raw colors
and wicked verbs
that pierce your secret places
and make you ache.
Your body knows my meaning
and pulls me in -
the warm lift and roll of you
closing over me,
shaking down the dark,
working fierce magic
with your wanton tongue
lashing over my own -
twisting the night
into something bright and savage.

Monday, October 31, 2011


I will meet you
she whispered
where the mad, mongrel moon
sways from course
and crests over the chimney tops,
leaving his shadow between our sheets.
Tis there
we will make him our ardent lover,
his junkaroo smile
brimming the cusp
of our hips like swans,
the bright wasp
of his longing gaze
trapping us
like a canopy of sighs
where the morning
cannot find us

Wednesday, October 26, 2011

Fortune Teller

Her teacup gathers words,
under the rim,
spilling temptation like a raven's wing.
She says my future's bright -
a ripe, fine apple
to be plundered,
my hopes a restless treasure
daring me
to change direction
and drain the danger
left lurking
at her edge.