The Wonderings of a Wonder Woman

In the air I smelled your scent
Floating among the clouds
Never imagined I’d be here
Falling fast
Leaving my imprints, like bullet holes
through love clouds
My arms are flexed,
Using my instincts to ward off all evil
Looking for civilians to shield from the pain of the world
I am stronger now that you left me to fight
the villains of the underworld,
the demons that spoiled our romantic, heroic fantasies
While you hide among the stars searching for answers
You remember how you got there..
Thinking yourself a hostage in our comic book-like partnership
My sources tell me you are one of many Supermans
Gallivanting around in your flashy costume
You played the part well, but you never wondered
I’d be too much woman for your superness to keep a hold of
Tonight I took refuge among the creatures of the jungle
Searching for the nature of the animal world
Wonder woman in all her wonderings
Never really believed she’d find her superman

Photo credit: http://www.jamesgunn.com/2011/02/17/sexy-wonder-woman-pinup-gallery-2/

Painting red

I keep painting my nails red..
Red is love.
Red is Sacrifice.
Red is the color I see
When my heart breaks
And the red falls dull in the shimmery paint
Red because I’ve been driven mad
Red for the imperfections in my kiss
Red for the words you’d like to eliminate

from my conversation
Red paint for good luck
Red for the Chinese New Year
Red is the dragon I imagine blowing flames

My heart, I imagine red, like a fool for love
Wearing my heart red on my fingers and toes
Swinging and wiggling my free-loving self
Red as red can be
Red on my face

Embarrassed that I confessed my love
Into the cold, winter air
Later to warm up my red hands
Painting, painfully waiting

Born of Roses & Scorpions (From my next book, Reckless, coming soon..)

Your Scorpio seductive

potions nurtured
My Libra baby bird feathers
showing me the fantasies

and magic powers
of being a woman.

My mother painted her lips red
with a red rose colored lipstick
attracting the darkest scorpions
spawned deep
in the souls

of men young and old.

Off her red lips

songbirds pranced
after flying from

the vines of her vocals.
In those songs, a baby bird,
saw the curves of the woman
I’d one day see in the mirror.
It was my mother...
only with a few exotic roots
She is a woman

with darker features.

The birds sung my heart

to sleep many nights
and carried me to places
where I was a sacred princess
treasured by a kingdom

of knights and maidens.
Her songs planted seeds
that would only grow

until much later,
flowering into wild

passion flowers

In bed I lay,
a rare bird,
naked with a sexy warrior.
Gazing into his rough skin
Thinking of where I came from...
I picture a beautiful red rose
in a romance with an onyx scorpion

MAKING HISTORY (a page from, my new collection of poems, Reckless..coming soon..)

MAKING HISTORY

Looking around the room

I took notice of the artifacts

that define our era

and think of us as a part of the history of now;

We are creating an atom of eternity,

a sexy 21st century

love affair

with all the markings of its time

When you touch my naked face to your lips

I wonder if I could’ve been more passionate in past lifetimes,

had I lived without

all our conveniences and luxuries

This could be all we know or an illusion,

this free-loving feeling that twists

my thoughts

all the while bound and tied down

by exotic and diverse things in this city

like lace ties and handcuffs

You’re mine with the press of a button,

a click, or a text

Its modern sorcery

We are equally objectified,

Changing clothes,

Wearing costumes for each other

quickly becoming just another device

Replaceable,

like my digital camera and cell phone

I look into your body language searching for the possibility of camouflaged romance,

trying my hardest to see traces of it

like an optical illusion

in the lines of your flexed arms

Photo Credit: Calvin Klein

Imperfections

I stroke the letters of these sweet syllables as I erect the sleeping

prose Until it comes to life... These words in my head were seeds

planted under the richest earth...soiled under sheets of smudged

paper that smell of sex and liquor.

Words from a lover are the Word for a hopeless romantic libra.

The heavy ones cause my scales to tip. I RoCk uNbAlAnCeD.

But finally find equilibrium

when I slam a pen to a free flying strip of paper.

Prose, a colored feather, I weave into my free flying hair that

bends and swirls where it wants when it wants to do it. An extension

of myself. A medium for heightened senses. A release from the

confines of a tightly bounded hair tie.

Roses without thorns may not be roses at all, but impostures of

a sort and far more dangerous. The natural ones are often long

stem and wild. I stare at you funny when you hand me a striped

love symbol- naked roses.

You've entered into my greenhouse. And now my imperfections

are showing. Your prompted to examine my nature that looks so

perfect from a distance. A nature sprung from wild seed, lonely

moons, and unpurified water.

Cut at the stem, I'm analyzed through your lens. Under these bright

lights I am revealed, seen as you like, a stranger, a danger to

your health, poison as ivy. I look deep into the mirror, poised, under

vanity lights searching for my natural self.

photo © Sarah Klockars-Clauser
for openphoto.net CC:PublicDomain

Lit

LIT

I would have turned up the flame if I knew it was going to burn so slow...

There are no next times, no. Only past times screwing new ones,

but I can let them go-

you know, when the wind takes lit ashes

they look like fireflies in the dark

and I have learned to gladly dance in them.

Photo credit: http://weheartit.com/dannyhorst

Chocolate Bubbles

My heart makes me a foreigner.

Without language,

I bathe in a tub of strawberry cream

Blowing dark chocolate

bubbles off my palms

dreaming my reality moons away.