Thursday, May 28, 2015

Touch




Glass drips from the outside
As the ice melts within,
My hand inches from your hand
My mind already deep inside
The heat not from the sudden
Plunge into Indian-like summer
But from the churning
I can’t stop with burger and fries
Or any mortal food,
We live our lives on the edge of extinction,
Needing to feed a raging hunger
That makes us melt on the outside and in,
Fingers inches from contact we know
Will cause the start of a great cataclysm
Rivaling only the big bang that
Started it all,
We are universes on a collision course
We cannot avoid, with inches
On a table top or car door,
As vast as light years
And yet, closing fast,
The churning inside working towards
That moment when finally,
Breathlessly,
Unbearably quick and slow,
We make contact,
After which, the rest us utterly
Predictable,
After which, there is no turning back.



Thursday, May 21, 2015

Burning palms



Thursday, May 21, 2015


My palms burn just from the thought of it
As if I have pressed both hands against a stove
Never learning from experience
About how hot things get when I press too hard
This growling volcano inside of me
Needing only an ounce of friction to explode
The rumbling of it rocking inside me
Waiting for the moment when I will erupt,
And then a never ending sequence of earthquakes
I am unable to control, nor want to,
Pressing my palms again and again
Against the scalding stove until I burn up
And still have not learned my lesson.


Tuesday, May 19, 2015

Pressed



Tuesday, May 19, 2015

I feel you through the thin veneer
The press of each curve
That fits against me
As we come together
For a moment, touching
And being touched
I feel you beyond the fabric
Beyond even the frail
Fabric of skin
That stands between us
As sheer as paper
But as firm as a wall
All the friction we can muster
May be unable to bring down
This need to get so close
That even skin doesn’t divide us,
This passion to feel every inch
Pierce through the pours
Until we drip into and out of each other,
I feel you underneath, and ache
To feel more


Monday, May 18, 2015

Pirate




Monday, May 18, 2015

Do they feel soft,
These quivering moist pink lips
That glisten in the dim light?
Are they as hot as they seem,
Flame-like, impatient,
But pressed tight like a treasure chest
I ache to open; but need no pirate’s map
To see what lies inside,
Just the courage to reach in and take it,
Hoping the theft will go undetected
Or better, accepted,
Making me sway as if still lost at sea
Unable to keep the tides from rising
And drowning me in their salty scent.
I drink nothing and still I feel drunk,
A staggering mass of unintended consequences
Rocking up and down and sideways
Until I cease to know which was is which
Or which way I intended to go in the first place,
Keeping sane only by wishing for
That which I can not have,
The imponderable mysteries of life:
Do they feel soft?
What if I touch them?
Will they even be enough?
Can I stop once I start?
How many times can I sink
Before I finally drown,
In this sea of potential bliss,
This potent mix,
This soft embrace?
Or have I already drowned
And do not know it?



Saturday, May 16, 2015

Shawl



1

I sway like a sea sick sailor
Each time I come into this room,
Breathing too deeply the stale air
Of legality in which I have no faith
A lost soul a sea of opinions
I cannot share,
Staring at the walls and floor
Like a scolded school boy,
Waiting for the crack of ruler
Over the back of my hands
For what goes on in my head.

2

I see sparks fly
When ever she moves
Shoulders covered with a shawl
That adds mystery to
Who she is
And her shape,
Old Fashion tinged with tease
Making me shiver
Though it is not cold
This shape of propriety
Making me ache to
Crawl inside and bend my shape
Around her shape,
To make other kinds of sparks fly

3

She always makes me shiver,
And ache so deep it feels
Like an earth quake
She, decorated and polished,
Floats in and out of this place
As if floating on air
Her pursed lips needing a key
To open
With me hoping

Mine will do

Friday, May 15, 2015

Becoming one





Friday, May 15, 2015

I touch it with my hands
But feel it inside me
The old Beatles song
Ringing in my head,
“I am you, and you are me,
and we are all together,”
tied up in a know
neither of us wants
to escape from
each move drawing us closer
and more deeply bound,
a binding that breaks flesh
to get to the spirit
I cannot breathe
Or think
Only feel,
Each lingering finger
Finding space to fill
Like the tip of tongue
Easing in and out
Of the vacant space
Left by an extracted tooth,
Pressing deeper into its hold
To taste if not blood
Then something just as sweet,
Never satisfied
Always needing to go deeper
Binding tighter,
To touch more
Until we really do
Become one


Thursday, May 14, 2015

A bite of the apple



Thursday, May 14, 2015

He waits for her to speak
Caring not so much for what is said,
Just as long as she says it,
Each new word from parted lips
A miracle of sound,
Resounding in his ears
As if this is the first time he could hear,
This how Adam must have felt
When Eve first spoke,
Aching for the moment when she
Might offer him the apple,
She unaware of the hiss of snake
He knows is his voice,
Her red lips pressed against
The cool red skin of the fruit
She must inevitable offer him,
The pop of its breaking flesh,
The drip of juice on her chin,
The look of blood lust in her eyes,
Her fingers still dripping
As she hands the bitten apple
For him to bite,
He drinking deeply the same sweet juice,
Tasting the sweetness of her lips,
Hearing her voice above the din
Of avenging angels and the deep bellow
Of an enraged god,
He hears only her voice
And tastes only her.