The beast inside June 16, 2015

 

It stirs inside me like a tiger trapped in a cage, banging its head against my ribs, and my crotch, aching for release, worst at night in the dark, alone, hearing its growl, feeling its vibration until I’m nearly crazy, no whip and chair can keep it contained, yet let it loose, it has no where to go without you.

It paces back and forth inside me, using up all the available space in my brain, each step a painful thought I cannot easily resolve. I am stiff with it, all over, the pangs like hunger that is not hunger for food, back and forth, up and down, in and out, this beast inside of me desperate to feed, to get its pound of flesh, to feed on you, night into day, into night again.

 

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To the core Dec. 3, 2012

  

I felt it when it all began, something more than I could stand, yet I could to all proclaim, I so completely was to blame, hiding this thing of beauty like a jewel, too bright, too brilliant, some completely true, a gleam glowing in my eyes if not in yours, alas I admit I still adore,

Wishing it real with every breath, daring not to put it to test, to utter it too much aloud would make it vanish like a cloud, I stiffened to your impassioned touch, a fire I now know burned too much, and I wish I could forever keep hold, this jewel of which seemed so bold, I love you now as I always did, but I’m just brave enough to admit, how warm I felt when this close to you, now a chill I cannot undo, distance making the heart yearn more,

For the person I still adore, a loss I feel down to my core, and a voice in my head saying never more, and I know it is not the same, and know down deep I’m to blame.

 

 

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How far is too far June 18, 2015

 

How far can I go before I cannot go any further, back and forth, then back again, letting my tongue run along the rim of each ripple before reaching deep, here, there and everywhere, how far can I go, to make you shudder, to make you convulse, circling each place until you tighten up with anticipation, asking for more than just where my tongue can go. How far is too far or not far enough, this romance, this dance, you looking down at me as  kneel before you, spreading it all open so as to leave all options on the bed, circling it all, front and back, then front again, feeling you stiffen with, you can’t hold back, making our want more than just where my face reaches, making you want to accept me, wholly. How far can we go, when it is too late to turn back

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A stone ground into sand May 3, 2012

 

I've clearly lost it.

I'm not the man I was when I was a boy,

 when I was able to convince all the girls

in the theater where I worked

 to spend some time in the balcony with me,

 needing no stiff drink to keep me firm,

only the feel of a breast I snuck with early caress,

 some telling me I was going too far

even as they let me,

age having worn me down like

water dripping on a stone,

shaping me into a shadow of

who I was and what I am capable of.

This not for lack of desire,

perhaps made worse for the intensity of it,

feeling as if i don't deserve that which i ache for,

 and so cannot live up to it,

when the whole thing falls into my lap,

needing  t, aching for it,

 only to disappoint myself at that critical juncture

when I can't give her all that she deserves,

 a stone ground down into sand.

 

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On those cold nights alone Jan. 16, 2026

 

The cold makes my fingers sting, even when I push my hands deep into my pockets, this season’s grip firmly on me as I count off the days until I can again be free.

I’m farther out in the wilderness than I recall from before, with nothing to spark life back into my aching limbs except by my own invention, the illusion of romance lingering as I drift off to sleep at night, and still clings to me when I wake in the morning, sunset, sunrise, neither able to do for me when I wish it could be otherwise, someone to hold my hand in the cold, someone to keep me warm sleeping beside me, thinking of her most during those chill nights when I need her warmth, need her to rekindle me, and make it possible to get through the night.

 

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That look on her face June 15, 2015

 

You can tell it from the slight flush of her face and slightly crumpled lips, like an admission of guilt, and her refusal to look anyone in the eyes, pleased, yet maybe just a bit ashamed, maybe thinking someone might blame her, trying desperately no to look at pleased as she really feels; she’s like this every morning after, and clearly wishes every morning could be like this; Just who she was with the night before, who can say, though it might just be someone different each time, though not every morning does she look this way – though on those mornings she does, you can tell it right off, the flushed cheeks, and maybe a bit difficulty in walking (suggesting she did more the night before than she could handle, and yet would not stop, won’t stop next time either.)

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Making a dead rose bloom again Jan. 20, 2013

 

The rose no longer blooms as it ought to, dropping when sunlight should make it glow. I prick my fingers on its thorns, and feed it with drips of my bleeding, this need swelling up in me, unsatisfied, and I am reduced to a beggar, so pathetically desperate to see the rose glow again, stirred deep in the night to seek out what is no longer there. Even the scent has gone sour, and yet, I hold it up to my face, aching to catch a whiff of what I once embraced.

How does one revive a dying rose, restore its beauty and its glow, make it again what it once was, or perhaps it can never be again, once cut from the bush that brings it life, and makes it flourish. One can find no joy clutching a dead rose, or squeeze from it a scent it no longer possesses. This sad thing I hold, still makes my hands bleed, but no matter how tight I hold it, I get no pleasure

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