One of those days

Today isn’t one of those daisy-teacup days, but a blue crystal goblet with a drippy and dreary purple ice-cream night in its near future.

Our Torrid Love (a work to be continued)

Our Torrid Love-hungry-famished-destiny-altered the mind-a scavenger with heightened senses- pounced like a starved lion-unable to feel-the body- swam in deprivation- anticipated deconstruction of a perfect someone-in each other.

I burned in your eyes all those nights under street lights. We took shots to numb it all, though I still felt your hurt crawling beneath my skin. Your scars cried tears into mine when we fell together. I held you higher and continued to descend. I lost myself in an empty space where words can only be thought and never born. Real passion was nonexistent- this was a fiction, lost among so many others. I ignored your stare and clinched as it salted my crevices that used to kiss yours. My dimness said it all.. did you hear me?

Our Torrid Love-Pressed our-fire reds, bubblegum pinks, purple plums- our lips- that have tasteless memories-but through all the grays I can still remember the colors.

In response to a prompt over at Writer's Island

Starfish Constellations

I wonder about the window
that’s collecting dust as the leaves
are changing colors
close my eyes and hold a seashell
to my ear
listening the ocean
call me back to the beach house
where I can watch the moments
float round and round
in a summer time capsule


In the room above the house
oars rested in fishnets draped
across the ceiling
holding starfish constellations
It was a watch tower
between the sea and moon
Where the sandy breeze tickled my face
Sometimes I can still taste the sea salt

My dark eyes often transport me
I explore the bookshelves of thick texts
with old brown covers that dim the room
You pour me some wine
and I sit close while you read
your favorite poem
about a bird
by Edgar Allen Poe
chasing each word with your finger
as you read them syllable by syllable

On cold nights like tonight
I lie under a deep sea of blue comforters
envisioning the starfish constellations
And I whisper poe's lines:
“the raven sitting lonely…
spoke only that one word, as if his soul
in that one word he did out pour”

fermentation of the fornication

Fornication, sounds like fermentation:
making alcohol out of yeast,
although vinification
sounds like a more sensual route to follow
right to the bottom of the bottle
where you’ve found you can use it like a telescope,
but only loose sight of the moon.

This fermentation of the fornication
Confuses you ­­---
As you once believed it to be a sensation
to create an indentation that was truly…You

At this hour
the intoxication is drunk off you-
a night demon:
possessed and used

Forget it all.
We’ll tie you to the mattress
and wait for the sun to perform an exorcism
or a plain over-exposure
to burn away the possibility of any identification-

Who are you?
The one who is so startled
upon waking to a blank ceiling
with the urge to fill in the empty spaces
that make you and that ceiling seem closer

Rising suddenly looking for some
indication of where you left
your lace underwear,
finding it in your shoe after giving up
running for an open door you catch
a glimpse of a stranger in the mirror
and realize it’s you.

White dawn

During the stranger-hours between the sheets
flickering eyes dream in time
breaking and entering into moments
we believed to be asleep

My dream flies
flutter into this dark
You can see their colors
when others saw none

This is your favorite time
In between the edge of dusk and scaling the AM climb
You love to float towards the tip of the white dawn
And hold tight as we descend to its bottom

stranger equals

My dysfunctional kiss is missed on your twisted lips,
but mine can only pucker and bloom

A stranger at your expense
swimming in your flaws
I couldn’t get enough of the aloofness

Stranger equals Freedom... Once I thought

When dead strings swung from my heart
I dangled
like a bungee jumper
excited, free, yet attached
thirsty for more polluted air

That was you-
don’t be fooled,
but be aware:
There was always someone else
staring at you in the dark
intoxicated deep eyes
worn by a zombie woman

My finger on your lip
Silent witchery
Freed the white lies
from your caves of fantasy.
They took to the sky
like wild bats wearing butterfly masks

You asked me again
But I can no longer lie
You’ve got no fiction in your kiss
Only words mumbled in secret code
Heavy and broken when they hit the floor

Stranger equals Prisoner