Pocket Full of Roses

With a pocket full

of secret roses

I swear, 

I swore

that this bunch of flowers

could grow for as long 

as they promised

to keep their colors going.

Then something happened,

they were unhappy perhaps,

demanding more of the sun

pushing their way

in front of other plants.

Were they truly neglected?

Sure, there was a dry spell

the soil was a little thirsty,

temperamental downpour

was sure to come.

Woefully unavoidable

no one ever plans on

neglecting their garden

full of the velvet gems.

Seriously,

I can’t stop staring

so of course

these roses

have the highest priority.

 These are first time flowers.

Gems with their magical charms,

not knowing that their petals,

open up, 

just as another closes.

And as long as I 

speed through time

I keep just fast enough

so the petals will never run out.

The trail out in front of us

eventually will show

all the places we’ve traveled. She loves me,

She loves me not.

I hate those words,

and yet,

I can say both things

equally the same.

How does one 

just stop growing

under this 

the midday sun?

Always be quiet,

it’s a part of the code

that hasn’t learned

to be all vocal.

You’d think,

after all these years

being so close to the ground

these flowers would learn

to be patient.

Simply follow 

where the sun goes.

With half of the flowers 

having petals expelled

she loves me right?

I keep plugging,

pulling and skipping

‘she loves me not.’

I can’t stand those words.

Love,

 the very thing

that has caused this

blackout void.

Flowers must know

that temporary lights

are sometimes enough.

That a sun 

hidden behind clouds

still shines it’s rays on them.

The beauty gems

 can’t expect

 each day

to be a blindingly 

perfect day.

Perhaps understanding 

that the sun

is a little busy

having to warm

all the others too.

Hurry Love

Hurry love

lets run away

before the sun decides to rise,

ruining a perfectly quiet night.

A night that has been full

and heavy

with the sounds.

Hurry love

step inside the showers

let the water fall and cascade

down the curved turns.

Let the suds cup and caress

your naturally perfect upturned sights.

I love the feeling

of this moment.

just before the sun rises

and shines a light

on what was made of last night.

Outstretched,

for the world to see

we couldn’t help ourselves

we kept moving.

With whispers

heavily into each others mouths,

beautifully unscripted

we somehow recited the words

in our favorites poems.

Bittersweet,

and my true love

come follow me

and I promise

I’ll keep soothing you.

Beautiful you.

The honest truth

woven around love-soaked wrists

holding you to myself

I swear not to ignore,

just as long as I’m allowed

to lay quietly still

buried in your perfumed bed.

I need your amazing look

that lovely mask of yours 

so I can hide and pretend

to be anonymous once again.

So when you say

I love you,

come tomorrow

I’ll reach and search,

and reach for your arm

to help guide me then,

just as the sun

begins to turn.

A First Dance

A crushed and crying girl

keeping everything locked up inside

far from prying eyes

hoping they won’t ever notice,

no one  truly ever does.

A first dream,

she was dancing,

in and amongst hundreds of other arms.

Yes, she was dancing alone

until someone caught her

and her attention turned

she wanted more of him.

She settled just long enough

to let him in.

And in his eyes

she came alive.

It was an obvious dream of hers

to dance to the magical music.

Soon, they were gliding

these super long distances.

He put his world on hold.

The others simply got out of their way,

he  brought her body closer

placing it in his palm.

Just as he opened that palm

she was released behind a curtain,

nothing.

With soft gasps and claps

all the other dancers

stopped to watch in awe.  

Eyes searched

staring at his extended hand

wondering where

the beautiful girl

had gone?

 It wasn’t until his eyes

had fallen on theirs

that he had realized 

the beautiful girl had gone.

This is but an illusion

or so one would insist

the girl was never dancing with him.

Yes,

perhaps it was all but a dream

and the first thing

that he had to go and do

was write and put it down in words.

he wished he could figure it out,

still, he only dreamt of the girl

the one that loved

to dance.

A Birthday Day

Even now as I count

and even though

it may be the wrong day

I still want to come

and sweep love into your life.

The 7th or 8th

it doesn’t matter much anyway,

I love

you equally on both days.

It’s in the touch of falling

feeling this amazing ache

here on your special day

where I am allowed to watch.

Watching every tiny little wish

laid on your lap to unfold,

the gifts are pretty memories now

I can’t help the fact

that today or yesterday

you’re just a little bit older.

A wise girl for sure,

it’s difficult to share,

just how perfect your birthday day

is to me.

I’m excited

like truly happy

to share in

your thousand little secrets.

Your finite rituals

where we bend into magical shapes

that show just how much

we really love each other and

the best comes at night.

Down on pretty knees

you kiss to please

here on your birthday day

where we’re transformed into

starlit lovers.

Slowly taking our royal names

we place the appropriate pieces

atop each other.

The most amazing of outfits

outlined and  embedded

with precious gilded jewels

barely covering the curves

shoulders  exposed.

Reckless and accidental

we leave identical marks

roughly gripping on to the other

tied tightly to the corners

with a wide eyed smile

soothing the deep body ache.

Just as the clock releases the day

and the hands turn

to the 9th

I count myself  blessed.

I start counting down

the time in months again.

International Dreamer

With the weight or pressure

of having to comprehend

and or remember,

the exact reason why

she wanted all of my attention.

She leaned in with a heavy kiss.

Her hair tied tightly,

the largest black rimmed glasses

she proceeded to ask some questions,

almost as if,

she wanted me to perform

some scholarly decathlon.

Being educated was the turn on,

she needed to know exactly why

I thought or think I knew

her mind was full of challenges.

For starters, we played around with

teasing and playing with

the words of the ancients.

She insisted,

I go into deeper detail

about Plato and his cave.

The chained and unseen,

kept prisoner,

simply because they lacked

enlightenment.

She turned to that word

paused and waited for me to catch up.

She undid the clasp

and her beautiful curls fell,

I reached to touch

she stopped my hand.

She asked,

stare into the future,

and tell me who

was going to bring about the biggest change?

And I tried

to shift and hold a mirror,

reflecting the question back to her.

She wasn’t buying it.

She asked,

who will bring about the biggest change?

perhaps thinking was taking too long

You don’t owe me an answer, she says.

I’ll answer,

only on one condition.

I get to whisper

in the cup of your ear.

She never saw it coming

the words sorta melted her mood.

I transitioned her theoretical evening

into the push and pull of foreplay.

She tried to pull herself away,

yet, she kept flopping back.

She so tried

to get back to that studious side,

it was no use really

she fell helpless into my arms.

We lay there for hours

one taking a turn after the other.

Nonsense philosophy really,

we both agreed,

the future was going to change regardless.

Still, to lay there with her sugary kisses

dangerously close

was profound.

What started out as some sort of lesson

turned into this amazing

‘session.’

Where she slowed the meanings in words

punctuating with sharp fingernails

the undulations and meanings.

By the end of her sentences,

I was wrecked.

She turned and removed her glasses.

She was losing her studious edge,

the wanting was a building ache.

She was winning.

I wanted the teacher to…

My Siamese twin,

she immediately understood.

The girl had scored the final victory,

just as she undid her blouse

with nothing underneath.

She had me wait and ask

like she were the teacher again.

It went a little sideways

something about detention

not paying close enough attention

and now the price

needed to be paid back

with gripping smacks

she knelt

and gave of her bottom

enough said.

A Precious Plan

With no true way

of ever really knowing

I was coming for you.

Say inside of an hour,

we’d be negotiating both sides

of a plan to please each of us.

Both roles would have to have

clearly defined rules.

This precious plan of ours

was different than all the rest.

With no true way

of ever really knowing

I was coming for you.

On knees to broken palms

I laid out the plan

before your handsome eyes

had a chance otherwise.

It was there to be judged

either you’d agree

or turn me away

with that hand of disapproval,

asking me,

come back when you’ve perfected the plan.

Waiting,

counting the petals on stems

“she loves me”

“she loves me not.”

there must of been

a thousand flowers on the ground.

You turned to face me,

asking,

‘when do we begin?’

With an over exaggerated trounce

I pulled you to the ground

and I whispered

for the first real time

as we laid in the mud.

The first real time I know

because your legs twisted around mine,

both of us lying there

entwined and fused as one,

‘we start now.’

In hushed very quiet sentences

we spoke this soliloquy that promised

both sides would get everything

ever wished or dreamt of.

For hours we negotiated

discussing all the intricate intimacies

how they were to be played.

Wrapped up in every syllable

the girl opened up a different side,

this night,

she cured everything

that had been in my life.

Able to walk now

I stretched her hands over mine,

up and over the moon

her ribcage was finally able to breathe.

The mood was infectious,

and just as she’d cured everything

she injected her serum into my veins.

She warned I’d now be addicted.

The street exchange

always searching for a fix.

I told her that

I’d crawl the streets

in order to get her drug

inside my life.

In some prophetic way

those words meant more to her

than the drug dealing image itself.

Just as we stopped negotiating,

she asked,

“what if things change between us?”

I reminded her

our plan was ever changing

like some fully living breathing animal,

that if we change

so too do the words

written in our Precious plan.

The New Trinity

With more than three

simple and truly amazing ways

to say I love you.

Without ever having to use the words

the new trinity

that single spark of desire

that insatiable wanting

floods and overwhelms

this need to drive the desired love

down deep inside.

With no true warning

the second most defining moment

that one can’t control

is the everlasting ache

built up and over centuries

down in our fragile minds.

We want to nothing more

than each other arms,

that first spark of

not knowing if there would ever be

this hungry internal flame.

My love-sick condition or

moon-lit sonata

Op.27 No.2 Mov 1,2,3.

Now go and listen

with my intended fervor

let the love-sick lovers

intertwine and dance

inside this piano movement.

Yesterday was never intended to be

a last true forever

where all the love making

is stuck in memory triggers.

This new trinity,

I call upon thee three times

to just quietly give me

some shaded company.

The Girl

With time and attention

both winding and tightening,

clearly, he wants her

to be the girl.

She has gained the attention of

someone who has made certain wishes

come exactly true.

She’s asked to be taught and shown

exactly how it is,

the rules rule,

on a day like today.

Delicately,

he explains the touch-play game

between both players.

This girl,

with a definite eye,

and intelligent personal demeanor

that others have a hard time believing

she’s willingly asking

to be taught and trained.

This deeper kind of willingness

to give of herself

to just one

deserving man.

Both of their truths,

she’s asked to blend and borrow

so her new makeup

will show brilliantly on the outside.

She wants to learn

how to  balance her internal voices.

Especially,

that one voice that pushes her to move ahead.

Tiptoeing from one stone to the next

she masters the information perfectly,

always doing exactly

what’s been asked

before moving ahead.

There have been 3 lessons,

with 9 more still to come.

She just finished

the Lesson of the Garden

where she identified

her pretty little thorn(s).

It’s a tough and sensitive game really

always expected to add each layer

and play the role  

to the best of her ability.

Each of them

have made a promise to the other

that whatever is asked

the other will obey

without question.

Because whatever it is he asks,

she will expect him

to follow through.

Balancing both expectation and  demand

precisely on the edge of her answers

there are certain words

she needs to use

how it is

she wishes to be pleasured.

On this, the curved heated night

she nods and offers herself

that intimate deep seeded self

that wants to be adorned

prayed and knelt before,

with heavy handsome kisses.

His mouth cupped over hers,

she doesn’t mind this kind of closeness

they have agreed on the contracted terms,

in a 4th lesson.

With a pulse of pleasure

he hands her something

she carefully fastens

tightly around her throat.

She can feel each swallow now

she completes the loop

with the words,

“The girl.”

The 2nd Minute

Here standing with the usual words

we meet face to face

for the first time in days.

Anemic or otherwise

these are the most intense moments thus far,

just as the girl has gotten stronger

the danger is

the girl is dangerous by nature.

When she’s this intense

it’s beautiful

the second minute  starts counting

with no warning

there’s no time to react

I stand by her side.

Taking her nervous hand in mine

I squeeze the anticipation super hard

and whisper,

“go ahead love.”

Confidence being her closest friend

she takes control

and goes over the plan

making sure I understand

exactly what it is she wants

and how it is

she’s to be treated

without question

we agree on the session.

With an aggressive wanting

the girl gives to each request

and each request or command

is answered with an eager smile.

The first minute passes

the first wave rolls over us

we drop down low for a second,

she turns and stares straight ahead

in her eyes

I can tell the next wave is coming

again, I grab and squeeze her hand.

She’s eager to start the second minute

the harder side of love

where trust is turned and tested

the weight of wanting  is given its turn.

Love,

placed squarely atop her shoulders

the world falls on her

and she wants to please,

the second minute passes

and we stare into the other.

Quiet footfalls

the geometry of love

hasn’t made much sense to her,

still, she trusts my second nature

the one  she counts on the most.

It’s easy for her

to give whatever she thinks I need

if you look at the balance between us

there is this pretty world

where one gives

while the other receives.

Storied Truth

We run with the truth,

our very own storied excuse

where we tell the other

just how much we’re loved

always getting what we wanted to give.

Clearly,

our hearts are forthright and honest.

It’s the start of a fire

with the girl

who understands how to speak

the actual truths in words.

With both our charms

we electrify the dull and greyed out sky

and at the same time

we are fascinated

by the burning

we’re keeping safe inside.

It’s not exactly clear

what’s really going to happen

when we reach and touch.

When we start to kiss

there are oh so few

to think we’d ever be allowed

to drink the apochethries precious poison?

Who can come

and turn to me, all unexpected

when I’m upside down inside?

Come calm the vertigo,

that feeling,

when you step from the edge

and your stomach drops.

Both of us desperate to grasp

onto the other’s hand

holding tightly as we slide

down into our cushions.

Loudly,

we laugh

burying the background noise

nothing ever truly mattered

our laughter was the real sound

our hearts have been craving.

I love the reckless girl,

the one who has slammed into me

ever so gently

I wrap my charms around her

getting lost

in some special garden,

a garden I’ve been planning

for the last couple of hundred of years.

Solitarily building

trying to impress the shine in her eyes.

All at once

the world seems so free

void from all distraction

no more nagging complaints

from my left shoulder

that has decided to stop and rest.

To take the day off

allowing me this new start

some rest with her.

Laughing quietly,

side by side

we’re slowly building

the inside memory triggers

where we live by pure instinct.

A simple glance

and she turns,

a pause

and I ask if she’s alright?

Late night love-making

without ever really touching

our tantric positions

positioning the other

she loves to dance

I love to guide her hands

reaching in

taking that grasp

and inserting it into mine.

We fall, twisting in the blankets.

These words

are the storied truths

I’m chronicling

for just her eyes

in a public way.

I love her

and I’m blessed

to have words as my currency

so I can spend

the hours in days

showing the world

just how a ransom

is paid.

Stick Figures

I can keep drawing

these two dimensional stick figures

in the sand

like some primitive man.

It’s 2 in the morning

and I’m mixed

with goodness that’s making

the dull ache of yesterday

seem all worth it.

The words are enough for me

I’m thankful

I can still draw these awful stick figures

in the sand

just before I get into this flight

my pretty kite

it’s always been in my hands.

Sweet and exploring

two things that mix seamlessly,

and I want to fold them both

down into your tired arms

with rich buttery lotion

that has sitting in the direct sunlight.

I can’t help myself,

thinking of you,

I’ve opened up enough inside to know

I’m happiest

when things are balanced.

Having a girl

just to have her

spreading love’s addiction

evenly out all over her skin

underneath a rain-soaked night

that most intimate of moments

where we’re both taking risks and chances.

There was never a guarantee

that we’d ever get anything in return.

I’m smarter now

because of the weight of yesterday

and my faulty,

fucked up memories.

The real reason

never needs to be acknowledged or repeated

I just want to wake up today

laying there in our favorite place

where we plan the day,

just figuring out

how we back get here

safely untouched

safely ready to love.

Today’s timetable

is a hurtful truth

where we dream

nothing ever happened

just as long as I’m high

with my girl.

I can live my life

in this dream

without any consequences

coming back to me.

I have open arm

ready to be embraced

by a true pretty girl

that insists on softly singing

in her own private moments

sitting there

deep in the mirror

it’s important I guess

to touch up and apply

the shadows of beauty.

She knows her natural looks

are stunning

all on her own.

Inching up behind her

trying to distract her brush strokes

she touches my hand

and smiles

with this stare

a deep squinting stare.

I wish I could take a picture

of this moment.

We stay locked on each other’s stare

reading the thoughts in our minds

she squeezes and says mouths the words,

truly thankful

I bend and kiss the one true mark

that makes her melt.

Love’s an impressionable child

with simple needs

basic true expressions

that reach out and intertwine

like the child-like stick figures

drawn out in the sand

Heavy Handed Mouth

A nighttime lover

it’s all we’ve ever wanted, besides,

who speaks with a magical tongue

like the old days?

So few can understand anymore

the love-drawn torturous eyes

that have wrecked our bodies.

Stare, it can’t be helped, but to stare

means you want

what we already have

it’s a jealous cycle for sure.

Believe whatever you want

the choice has always been yours to keep,

even as that heavy handed mouth

comes closer to yours,

I’d turn if I were you.

I don’t  think affection’s sweet arms

will ever be wrapped around me again.

The one and only thing

I’d use to scream

is too busy

mouthing something pretty

to someone who is too stubborn.

Still, I’d spend hours

kissing your hungry mouth

with the tiniest of little touches.

I’d swear, you wouldn’t even know

I’ve always been on top of you.

The actual matter

of my situation, is this,

my plain and simple speech

is truly misplaced and probably lost.

I smile as if,

I have chosen to speak this romantic dialect

because it was once fashionable and fancy.

The words are forgotten

miles from civilization now

people are too busy

to just stop and listen.

Today, it is a delicate place

where you’re surrounded by poison

flowered beauties,

timeless choices,

but most of all

what is hurting all of us

we’ve forgotten

how it is to love.

All it took

was just one tiny slip up

everyone has been wondering why

it’s taken you so long

to return their messages

or accept their friendship.

And all this because

I wanted to kiss

two centuries ago.

I know it couldn’t of been helped

you fell in love with a voice

that was so softly spoken.

Today is the first day

I want to beg and kneel,

just so I can show you

how it is

when you flood me with admiration.

I want you

to be the chosen girl

picked from centuries ago.

Timeless,

she stands and marks the moments.

Hours pass

and

I fall deeper in love.

Hours pass

and

I can’t help myself,

but to reach and grab for her mouth.

That delicate heavy handed mouth

perfect for everything,

she hates kissing.

Still,

I expect

the best no less.

I want her well read

having understood all the words

in all the lessons ever written

it’s important

that the both of us

understand how it is

we’re to speak

no matter what century

is upon on us.

The once forgotten language

tantric or otherwise

deserves all of our attention now.

Most will have no idea what I’m speaking of,

except her of course

it’s always her

being the one true,

exception,

I’ve come to depend upon.

To come here diligently  and read my words

by some sacred decree

thrown on the church steps

by some fat priest.

All I’ve ever expected of her

was an alcoholic afternoon

where we tipped and drank

throughout an entire sunny day

filling both our bellies

with heavy memories.

Filled with spellbound stories,

a totally reverted afternoon

all fun and edgy.

Together,  getting way too loud.

Seriously,

we’d laugh at this 21st century,

it’s just like the one

several hundred years ago

where we swore

we’d never settle

we’d never kiss

we’d never let our heavy mouths

touch.

Fresh Set of Eyes

Without ever having to look

it was easy to see why this time

she was the one girl,

unlike the rest.  

There was never a need to

have that type of discussion,

where things had to be spelled out

she already knew

without ever asking.

A refreshing quench for sure,

the drought has taken its toll.

Age, youth and beauty

are logical triggers or answers for sure.

This kind of girl

doesn’t want to hide or deny

the way she wishes to be felt inside.

Just like that,

it was a fresh set of eyes

staring back at him now.

Each new night  that he’s been with her

it’s been this little cherished state

without ever needing to ask her

to adjust the temperament of their room.

It’s like,

she already knows

without asking

just how tepid

he wanted her mood.

This  one  will be treated differently,

without first names or cues

they’ll interact in a more

natural-giving kind of way

where everything

is cyclical  and never ending.

They’ll slip up close

very neatly

and whisper how it is to feel

now that they’re finally alone.

There are somethings

that need to be quietly said,

it shouldn’t be too hard  to read

with her fresh new eyes

reading his.

He already loved how

she can look at something

and tell him,

using just a look.

It’s intoxicating to be flooded

after being deprived for so long,

stuck in that drought for decades.

He already knew he needed her,

in fact, she’d be the one

with the best chance

to get them safely down

the Garden’s path.

With yesterday firmly behind them,

today it rained.

For the first time in years

no more shallow excuses

explaining why something can’t happen.

There was an abundance

of water now.  

She’s an all night drug

sipped slowly at the top of each hour.

She gives the curve of her hip

to help balance his gait,

and he held tightly to her because

he wasn’t  going to lose his grip.

It’s her body

she can do what she wants with it

and for the first time

it isn’t awkward giving

sharing the light

highlighting the path

out in front of them both.

Tonight when things get heavy

she’s worried that

her feet will shift in the sand,

she’ll get stuck

and not know how to answer.

He told her,

the tide will come and overtake her

she won’t be able to swim

she’ll drown.

Just let that happen

because she’ll awake with new eyes.

Just as she predicted

a rogue wave swept in

and overtook her.

At first,

it was overwhelming and too much

she managed to calm herself, still,

she was positive she’d drown.

She’d definitely need

someone to save her.

She remembered the words,

sipped and let go.

Thank goodness

when this morning arrived

she opened her eyes

thinking her dream was just that,

some grand adventure.

Her vision was somehow different,

not fully restored

she felt  the grit

between the layers of sheets. and toes.

It was something more than that,

everything had a sparkled glow  about it.

With a fresh set of eyes

she looked back on last night

with newness

it was like seeing double,

had she really drowned?

Impossible, and yet,

her bed was soaked

and she turned and started to count

the hours between each wave.

She remembered being

weightless and afloat

and these blinding lights

perhaps her eyes

weren’t remembering right.

Recharged,

she felt alive

and it’s just now

as she looks out across her room

she feels completely

loved by him.

Fevered Touch

Our coveted pretty place

adorned heavily

in heavenly icons.

Close to our bed love

rosaries hang

close at hand

just in case

we need to pray

for our burdened sins.

Sins that aren’t so easily made up

I’m constantly in prayer

asking for the return of your attention

there is something

that makes up the core of me

where I need you

completely willing to give me everything.

A place where you’re not afraid

to walk right up the edge

and look over at the abyss

the blessed destination

between love’s beautiful comfort

and the sensual sheets of need.

I want you next to me

so I can smell that scent again

I swear it’s been years

since I’ve had that kind of pressure

placed so easily in front of me.

Up until this moment

I haven’t minded all the praying

it’s just right now

I miss my special angel

the pretty fairy wings

in matching panties

dancing softly towards me.

I have the worth of a thousand men

with sensitive feelings

knowing I have much more to give

before this fevered touch

chooses to leave me.

My skin is carrying some

sensitive somebody

dangerously choking the life,

the rich romantic kind of Domination

that causes one

to fall in love.

Controlling the Kiss

I swear,

I swore the last time

that if there could ever be a tomorrow

I’d let you borrow my love

for however long you needed it.

I never knew it was this serious

being on the other side

of love’s hungry door

never hearing all the knocking.

To be in your arms again

controlling the kisses once more.

God’s gift for sure

back when it was so isolated,

banned and forbidden.

This warmer weather

so reminds me of you,

the true you,

where you try and avoid

the sun, with it’s heavy consequences.

The golden orb

forces most everyone

to seek shelter inside

to hide and get out of it’s light and rays.

I’m rising earlier and earlier

to greet the handsome stranger,

the one that has survived

another jealous night

waiting for his moon

to settle down

and sleep for once.

I love watching you

sun drenched or otherwise,

your skin has a mirrored glossy shine.

I’ve memorized the pleasure source

of having you close  

slowly rubbing oil deep into my shoulders

easing my soft broken side .

A side that isn’t so noticeable

now that everything is recharged and full,

almost overflowing again

the kings riches

that never played a part between us

have given us some kind of relief.

Finally given the pick of a select few,

just as that perfect creature

searches in vain

for that one pristine place

here we are

controlling the kisses.

Clasps and Expectations

The beauty age

a girl works hard

trying to move the others

far from what is hers.

She glances and watches for his reaction,

together they know without conversation

and music is the excuse.

Smash and push the night forward

deeper and forward this time

both bodies all heated and warm

their love attraction rules.

In that moment

they both take their roles

she offers up her wrists

and as delicately as their first kiss

he ties a series of Shibari knots,

the triton,

tied firmly and yet

all she’d have to do is pull

to be released and set free.

With his eyes in hers

she double twists the knot

making sure he knows

she’s here to play.

The emergency penetration

eloquently he stabs the sharp tip

of his Willam Henry Knife

into a bowl of fruit at his feet.

Kneeling to be even with her

he places a set of heated stones

down the curve of her spine,

she tingles under this burn.

Her skin, at attention now

absent of any surface tension

until  that knife point

slices and quarters the flesh

a piece of pear fruit.

Dripping fruit brought to her hungry lips

feeding her passionate wanting.

Instructed to keep eyes shut

he lays almost on top of her

both equal  now

he nudges her legs

open for a new kind of dialogue

buried in the corner of her ear

the whispering chord

tightens.

Upon hearing

“ lost and a long time ago”

she fights to squirm underneath him

it’s no use really

there is no other real place for her

except here

underneath his control.

Caged Heart

Against faith,

I’m honestly making the right choice

my heart has hung itself

inside a thick steel cage.

I want yesterday back,

so I could say and do

all the same things over again.

My heart loves

and it doesn’t matter

that it forgets

and has no long term memories.

The overcrowded conditions

of where it lives

it would be happy enough

just to have

a belly full of overflowing love.

I was wondering if,

the whispered prayers,

I’ve been saying for centuries now

are making any sense?

God has to be tired of listening.

What’s worse,

nothing ever changes,

and yet,

I keep my stubborn streak alive.

I think I can find someone to replace you.

Of course it is a lie,

it’s just that,

I’m just so much more

sensitive than everyone else.

I think that’s why

my heart has been sentenced

to this harsh life. 

Far from everyone else,

it’s just the two of us in here

it’s impossible to spread wings

with hands that

would never trust again.

I’ve kept my promise

let me say that again.

I’ve kept all my promises

about writing each and everyday

to my love.

Always using a set of poetic words

always using the best of me

showing the world

how much love means to my heart.

I still get that same look

when others refuse

to look in

and recognize

my heart is still trapped

cuffed and chained

to a graffitied wall.

I have no excuses now

don’t try to convince me otherwise

for this love soaked love condition,

I accept is a part of me now.

In fact,

I didn’t know I’d end up here

writing about something or someone

that meant so much to me

and my best friend inside.

I bet I could forget everything

nothing or no one

needs to care or matter,

just as long as it meant

my caged-up heart

could be  free

and let out.

A First Interview

It was always her idea

to want to sit and meet with him.

To sit, and explain why

no one understood

how it was to feel.  

To sit with him

not as equals,

but both playing a certain part.

The object of her interest

was to explore

what she had always known in her heart.

That tepid sort of fever

just before one succumbs

to that dangerous sickness.

This blind interest

to please

was probably misguided from the start.

This wanting

and giving of herself

was probably something all together different.

Something was missing in her.

Indifferent,

was the proper explanation

for  this curious girl

that  hadn’t ever given

in a way that was unfamiliar  or unknown.

Who could blame her after all

the lifestyle  is like a black eye.

If you’ve ever asked yourself,

the true ringer of an answer

has always been

we tend to fix whatever the problem is

by making an even bigger mess of things.

So she reached out to Him

and in doing so

she was being asked

are you sure

you want things expected of you?

Without a seconds hesitation

she nodded, yes.

Everything always starts with the lessons

the traditional bookwork

where one could show off her

academic prowess.

And without giving too much over

he spelled out how her studies

would need to work.

What came next and followed

was plain speak

the familiar unpolished model

where the easiest of things

became this monumental struggle,

he was disappointed by this one.

Without any real fire or burn

it was impossible for him

to keep the flame of attention lit.

Without an ounce of fight

he let the  once promising candle

simple extinguish itself.

Missed expectations

not just once or twice

it was an entrenched habit with her.

From a series of useless excuses

it made one wonder if

the ideals set out in the lessons

are simply impossible to reach

especially when we live

in a world of missing details.

Poison Pen

Dipped hurriedly

the words couldn’t come fast enough.

I was using one of those,

500 year old pens

you know

the kind with the ink well,

and as I was writing

I couldn’t help but notice

the ink stained and literally got everywhere.

Each time the tip was lowered

liquid just spilled out everywhere

I kept repeating

don’t be so vertical.

I was covered in what felt like poison

oozing from this pen

a gift given to me

by some luscious beautiful friend.

Oh how she went on and on

listing all its benefits

always reminding me

that the  quality

is second to none.

So I dipped it cautiously

thinking I was royalty

penning some crucial document.

I have to admit

holding something from so long ago

felt almost like

an excitement. I didn’t have to pretend.

Of course it took

some getting used to

because the leading edge

truly bled and bled

like I was killing it,

not in a good kind of way,

instead, I was

draining the inked life out of it.

Needless to say,

my first beaker of ink

went pretty quick

I made an ungodly mess

draft after draft

until I was satisfied

I could present,

to her, my official document.

Still, all covered in ink

I proudly held out

a decree of my love

an announcement of my admiration for her

truly, it was a fucking mess for sure.

When she walked in

she couldn’t help but laugh,

“what have you done to it?”

Listen,  I demanded

with ink still fresh and dripping

I knelt and handed her

her first real decree.

Clearing her throat

in some comical gesture

she read the said document

with this made up accent

it somehow worked

as we looked at the other

she held up a mirror

I knew what was coming.

I had ink all smeared

not only on my face  and collar,

but there on the edge

it had gotten all over my comforter.

I just stared at her

until she said,

“the next time you wish to decree

your royal love for me

use your phone, laptop

or  ball point pen.”

I very gently laid that pen

back in it’s 500 year old box

that is now stained

marking this year and century.

Upon I can look

and remember

the luscious beautiful girl

who gave it to me.

In The Books

And i’ve counted

since the day it stopped

over and over again

always making sure

I kept reading the words

that mattered.

The sensitive promise

keeping this perfect record of

the number of books

that together we’ll read.

That number

multiplied by months,

then years,

running without much notice,

but still, it’s important to read.

The titles to books

the list keeps growing and

I’m not so picky anymore,

I swear.

I feel like not sleeping

always trying to get back

into the make believe.

I live my life

in a myriad of genres

love without action

a true historic fiction

a sensless biopic

spread out over centuries

just like my love for you.

anyway, i don’t care

if you point fingers

and fall hopelessly

it doesn’t matter to me

because I’ve got books to read.

a thousand perfect stories

true companionship and love

i can see right through

each minor character flaw,

as long as I’m patient

the stories action

will eventually rise.

I can’t compare

my days anymore

the pace I’ve set for myself

thank goodness

for artificial lighting.

the hours

i spend lost in words

like the story of the girl

who can float between worlds.

I am in love with 6 characters

and I hesitate to finish

not wanting to ever say

goodbye.

Each day I make a promise

i’ll only read for an hour,

then i can’t help myself

the drug addiction

the fucking words

they slip inside my veins

like the biggest rush

of fresh air.

i wonder if,

there is anyone else

that has this addiction too?

There has to be someone

who would covet my list

cherish and guard it

perhaps defend my choices

make them your favorites too.

I’ve always thought

it romantically pretty

when two people read together

sharing and taking turns

lovers of the same book

one listens, while the other reads.

Instead,

I’ve got just me

reading and listening at once

a set of digital words,

inside my head.

The Girl

With time and attention

both winding and tightening,

clearly, he wants her

to be the girl.

She has gained the attention of

someone who has made certain wishes

come exactly true.

She’s asked to be taught and shown

exactly how it is,

the rules  rule,

on a day like today.

Delicately,

he explains the touch-play game

between both players.

This girl,

with a definite eye,

and intelligent personal demeanor

that others have a hard time believing

she’s willingly asking

to be taught and trained.

This deeper kind of willingness

to give of herself

to just one

deserving man.

Both of their truths,

she’s asked to blend and borrow

so her new makeup

will show brilliantly on the outside.

She wants to learn

how to  balance her internal voices.

Especially,

that one voice that pushes her to move ahead.

Tiptoeing from one stone to the next

she masters the information perfectly,

always doing exactly

what’s been asked

before moving ahead.

There have been 3 lessons,

with 9 more still to come.

She just finished

the Lesson of the Garden

where she identified

her pretty little thorn(s).

It’s a tough and sensitive game really

always expected to add each layer

and play the role  

to the best of her ability.

Each of them

have made a promise to the other

that whatever is asked

the other will obey

without question.

Because whatever it is he asks,

she will expect him

to follow through.

Balancing both expectation and  demand

precisely on the edge of her answers

there are certain words

she needs to use

how it is

she wishes to be pleasured.

On this, the curved heated night

she nods and offers herself

that intimate deep seeded self

that wants to be adorned

prayed and knelt before,

with heavy handsome kisses.

His mouth cupped over hers,

she doesn’t mind this kind of closeness

they have agreed on the contracted terms,

in a 4th lesson.

With a pulse of pleasure

he hands her something

she carefully fastens

tightly around her throat.

She can feel each swallow now

she completes the loop

with the words,

“The girl.”

Drunk Love

From far away

all I’ve ever wanted

was a sliver of her attention,

and I know even asking

was all together too much

for the Queen.

With half shy delicate eyes

it’s always been hard

to speak frankly to her

the last time I voiced and opinion

was three years ago,

she hasn’t talked to me since.

And yet,

she insists

that I keep these words going

perhaps for her amusement

knowing she holds the power

I’m just the servant.

I didn’t ask for this,

torturous life,

words that amuse the others

bringing some sort of joy

to their tepid lives.

After all or

happily ever after

she’s the Queen,

I shouldn’t forget my manners

because buried deep inside

I hold her somewhere else

above the others.

I know how her walls are adorned

all gilded and charmed

all of us know

she has everything anyone could ever want,

so why me?

These lyrical words

written exclusively for her

have been a greater testament

to any other kind of love

any greater love

she’s ever been used to,

still, she’s adorned by many men.

Seriously,

what difference  would it make

if a poet with all his words

were to ever make a Queen

wait for her words.

The Queen

From far away

all I’ve ever wanted

was a sliver of her attention,

and I know even asking

was all together too much

for the Queen.

With half shy delicate eyes

it’s always been hard

to speak frankly to her

the last time I voiced and opinion

was three years ago,

she hasn’t talked to me since.

And yet,

she insists

that I keep these words going

perhaps for her amusement

knowing she holds the power

I’m just the servant.

I didn’t ask for this,

torturous life,

words that amuse the others

bringing some sort of joy

to their tepid lives.

After all or

happily ever after

she’s the Queen,

I shouldn’t forget my manners

because buried deep inside

I hold her somewhere else

above the others.

I know how her walls are adorned

all gilded and charmed

all of us know

she has everything anyone could ever want,

so why me?

These lyrical words

written exclusively for her

have been a greater testament

to any other kind of love

any greater love

she’s ever been used to,

still, she’s adorned by many men.

Seriously,

what difference  would it make

if a poet with all his words

were to ever make a Queen

wait for her words.

Fevered Touch

Our coveted pretty place

adorned heavily

in heavenly icons.

Close to our bed love

rosaries hang

close at hand

just in case

we need to pray

for our burdened sins.

Sins that aren’t so easily made up

I’m constantly in prayer

asking for the return of your attention

there is something

that makes up the core of me

where I need you

completely willing to give me everything.

A place where you’re not afraid

to walk right up the edge

and look over at the abyss

the blessed destination

between love’s beautiful comfort

and the sensual sheets of need.

I want you next to me

so I can smell that scent again

I swear it’s been years

since I’ve had that kind of pressure

placed so easily in front of me.

Up until this moment

I haven’t minded all the praying

it’s just right now

I miss my special angel

the pretty fairy wings

in matching panties

dancing softly towards me.

I have the worth of a thousand men

with sensitive feelings

knowing I have much more to give

before this fevered touch

chooses to leave me.

My skin is carrying some

sensitive somebody

dangerously choking the life,

the rich romantic kind of Domination

that causes one

to fall in love.

Yesterday 

• ▪ Drunk Love
• ▪ The Queen
• ▪ Fevered Touch
• ▪ Clasps Expectations
• ▪ The Mirrors
• ▪ Wanted Things
• ▪ Indie Sun
• ▪ Love always
• ▪ Pay the Price

The Mirrors

With the choice of a thousand mirrors

it was almost impossible for her

to choose just one.

Some were filled with jealous glances

always trying to compete.

For centuries now

her little kingdom

was strewn with broken mirrored glass.

There wasn’t a safe corner

she knew it was her own fault

always trying to tiptoe

being careful.

Until one day

she ordered for the shards to be picked up

to be cleared and fired.

All the broken mirrors

would now be combined to make one.

Burned and brought back to attention

the liquid filled many cups.

This, her glamorous pool of desire

was something altogether different

it was impossible not stare at it.

The fiery red anger

of the flared up tips

caused the flames to dance around her.

She stood over her collection

she was proud of her look

narcissistic or whatever

she didn’t care what the others thought.

A deep belly red crimson

matching the color of her lips

she stood guard as the liquid got even hotter

the best of her

played in the reflections.

With a strong and heavy kiss

she gave her approval.

The liquid glass poured

a very thin sheet covered her world

with a delicate layer

her once delicate heart

was now sealed.

Starting over with this new exterior

This new glass would protect her now.

Her wise and smarter heart,

the fool no more,

now she could spend hours

looking aimlessly in the mirrors of others.

There are some that will pay

for the cherished honor

of being able to hold hers.

The handle with its deep golden inlay

with the carved words

“doubt thou the star is fire

doubt the sun doth move

doubt truth to be a liar

never doubt thy love.”

The frame outlined in rubies

each quarter marked by a diamond.

This would be her final keepsake

a treasured momento

to pass onto

her daughter.

Wanted Things

With a thousand year old stare

I assume I am just like you,

we notice the tiniest of changes.

Someone around me

once handed me my first novel

and read it

like I was pushing my first addiction.

My reading voice

was too new to recognize why

you had me reading

the Claiming of Sleeping Beauty.

Me and my sophisticated choices

you had to of believed

I had a chance to succeed.

Today, I am all around you.

Wanted things

foolishly confessed

now I’m the one handing you

handfuls of words.

Focused attention of mine,

me and yours,

I pray each night

to simply lay in your arms

adrift just above the surface

on some imperfect dock.

My time reader

where there aren’t enough

books in the world

to fill your beautiful mind.

I love watching you read

hour after hour

me picking or suggesting

the things you need to see and feel.

The time traveler

and his wife,

A Snow girl

wished for and brought to life.

There are so many new titles

the Night Circus begs for your eyes

underneath a tent of deception,

and I swear

you’d love the newest

about a family of witches.

The spell has been cast for all us

I want only you

to lay with and whisper to,

starting a book

reading it out loud

making it our tradition again.

The oral fixation

of telling stories

over and over again.

I want to be consumed

with how you pronounce your words

softly stumbling over the syllables,

asking for a meaning.

Hours we could lay consumed

off track and exploring,

together, exploring

for all the

wanted things

hoped and wished for

waiting for us

Indie Sun

The very nature of this

the pretty girl,

has been locked

set up and carved in stone

step by step

for centuries now.

Nothing needs to be held out,

playing the sensitive part

of being all wrapped up

in the warm Indie sunshine

making love.

She’s a natural ever lasting

cause for feverish skin.

Underneath shielded armory

her strong heavy man

comes with some sort of

protected wisdom,

if not with gilded words,

then with bronzed polished shoulders.

Playing the strings of silhouettes

his charmed and coveted mandolin

lays guarded in his arms.

Her new day begins

heavy with temptation

she wants nothing more

than to add to his keep.

Beneath some shallow whispered something

she makes a profound addition

a half promise

with real long lasting truth.

she wants to devote herself

to her own beautiful cause.

Indie Sunshine

triggering each new days start

she’s a timeless hope

impossible to number or count.

Love Always

From the spoils of  simply knowing,

love always,

conquers and rules the day.

Soon, I’ll have her

near my sensitive side.

Curled and cupped up close

against each and every day.

These are the stars

or lofty dreams

that I’ve talked about.

Such desires must live

alongside her eyes too.

And for the first real time

love actually has a chance

of coming to life again.

Like a true forever lover

I have prayed for the girl

to simply come again.

My mood has not changed

I want to take a chance.

Lying close again

with eyes up into eyes

this time, a true time

won’t count against us.

 I understand you better.

I swear even if

I to convince you

all over again

to find love a thousand different ways

from here and forever

I haven’t been writing all these words

out of some convenient manner.

I just want to close my eyes

and know that in the morning

you’ll be there taking my wrist and arm.

Up underneath

these first big chance

I think of your heavy answers

down along some desolate road of love.

I swear I want to be dragged

to be picked up

and slapped with affection’s kiss

that kind of linking that

when others see it happening

they turn away.

Love a thousand ways

the wheels pour over both of us,

while putting our bodies

in compromising positions.

The torture lives

in equal parts

in both of us.

Pay The Price

The triangle

she dug without ever knowing, 

she wanted to do everything

exactly perfect

so there were no more slip-ups.

The edge she clung to

closes earlier and earlier each year,

but with each new month

the expectations grew.

The weight of just getting by

the downward pressure

having to balance

out of control cards

the minimum payment

seemed all she could ever make.

From one hand,

to the next,

to the other

just as quick as that

numbers passed from one account

to the next.

She cried.

With one real tryout

a remarkable wish she whispered

not knowing when the ax

would eventually fall.

That one final decisive blow

to end all questions.

With one option,

worse than the next,

she sold a percentage of herself.

That next morning

was unlike all the rest

the weighted expectations were simply removed.

In complete and total disbelief

she realized

there won’t be any questions or calls

she  must of checked her balances

a million different times.

She had been saved

and for the first real time

she prayed to someone.

A weightlessness in her mind

she received the biggest gift.

Finally free to drift and float

she swears

each new purchase

will be made with purpose

making sure

never to fall back

in that dark hole.

 

Concrete River

With a noticeable glance or stare

I can’t quite remember

how it was

I found you there

in a concrete river.

There you were

in water that was soft and curving

by some manmade structure.

There must have been

hours of pure love and beauty

poured into your foundation,

in order for you,

to stand the test of the seasons.

Perhaps this is why

I consider you

the one and only.

I still find myself

still so in love.

I can’t help but staring,

at this,

a scene void of any sound and movement.

The crashing is surely deafening

underneath this bright blue sky

I am trapped

by your calling.

I look as if,

I could of changed the outcome.

Your shoulders are getting their color,

just as you have wanted or planned.

Sun-kissed beauty,

you always have been

the glamour-girl

and I am in love.

Forever and always

you’ll always be this

super pretty girl

that I can’t stop thinking about.

I can’t help but notice now

that someone has invested time in you.

That sparkling glance or smile,

always so perfectly timed

you know exactly how to position yourself

deep in the back of  eyes.

I want to come save you,

to be the one

that spreads the SPF lotion

down and out across your spine.

Love tingling,

I watch how the others defend

their wayward glances,

the jealousy in their wanting

is the drug

we both want.

Even I,

add to the excuse or reason

I have to keep my eyes fixed upon,

this scene of you

my manufactured reason

I need to be in love with you

to prove that I wasn’t wrong

spending time in the concrete river

along with you.

I have been counting on this weekend,

the one where we turn clocks forward.

I get to spend an extra hour with you

buried in bed

late night kisses

out in the fresh wide open.

Hands on Spring hips

atop that early morning

where it’s super crisp,

but blindingly bright

where for once

we reach the same place

at the exact same time,

our love solstice.

I am charmed by your looks

that charming glance

when your head tilts back and

I grip onto you even harder

tight inside my grasp

I bring you to that edge,

and you release

deep into me.

Harder,

describes this moment or event

here in the concrete river

where the edges

have all been, but polished smooth.

It’s safe

to be undressed and naked.

The shimmering water

has no visible distortions

while resting comfortably on elbows

you tilt and let the sun God

properly cover your entire body

from head to toe

wide and overlapping hands

spread evenly down your center

and you open yourself up.

Hands inside of hands

like there is nothing or no one else.

From the balcony above

the song

‘River’

by Leon Bridges

plays.

A First Dream

A First Dream 

A crushed and crying girl

keeping everything locked up inside

far from prying eyes

hoping they won’t ever notice,

no one  truly ever does.

A first dream

and she was dancing,

in and amongst  hundreds of other couples,

she was dancing with someone.

She was crying

up until

a strong hand guided her

out along the curve of her lower back.

She was settled and relaxed

and in her eyes

she came alive.

It was an obvious dream of course

we were gliding these long distances,

I was put in her world.

The others simply got out of our way,

she  brought her body

and placed it in my palm.

Hard against my body,

I loved how she felt,

just as I opened my hand.

She was gone,

nothing.

With soft gasps and claps

the other dancers

had all stopped to watch

wondering where the beautiful girl

had gone?

This beautiful girl,

is but an illusion

that insists on

dancing with me.

Yes,

perhaps it was a dream

and the first thing

that I go and do

is write.

I wish I could figure it out,

why must I dream of this girl?

The bigger polished meaning

or reasoning

is that I must ,

still love.

Drunk Love

Her silhouette
has always been a mystery to us
seeing her private curves
thin fabric she hides behind
betrayed by the sun.
Standing there,
with a certain look
neither of us move
the naked fully clothed girl
stands her delicate ground
my eyes cover every inch.
With beauty at her side
she stands waiting,
wanting all the attention,
he stands and closes the distance.
The first little slap
her soft perfume
triggers the memory guide
my hand to her hip.
It was always so easy
to stand and share with her
the same intimate breath.
This first touch
the grasp of her wrist
squeezed and pulled
against my rough chin
she begs to be super close.
Words dance in her ear
with warm accurate breathing
mixed with the emotional tug.
Her knees felt weak.
Still, her silhouette was the need,
almost as if, we were laying in her bed.
My eyes met hers,
we both wanted the same thing
she whispered those words.
With a step back
still, with her wrist in hand
she spun her sparkled dress
and danced on tiptoed heels
she caught the staring eyes
and pushed back from behind.
She needed the attention
it was starting to show
she was wanting,
and as if to read her mind
I grabbed her
we kissed pretty hard.
Some call these moments
‘love drunk love’
it was always this way
for centuries now.
Romantically decorated rooms
with layers and layers
adorning both their charms
we roamed freely
feeding on each other
‘love drunk love’
or otherwise.