Dream Rides

Morning dreams between there and here;
I wake slow, warm, conscious of time, and
desperate to ride the dream.

Afternoon dreams burn hot, fast;
I require little work
to take me there in rare and stolen time.

Bedtime dreams come slow and tired;
I stay awake as long as needed,
eager both for sense and sleep.

Not NaPoWriMo, Not Haiku

It’s a Skype Night

The thin crescent moon
of your lips
as you type,
pounding laptop keys,
intent upon commitment-keeping
for one more day—
that thin crescent moon,
often downturned, focused;
sometimes up, amused.

Through webcam view,
your wide and well-built torso compels,
my eye view being one I’ve seen before
in bed,
above,
looking down,
a rich spread laid out
in panorama before me,
a feast for fingers and mouth,
a soft landing for
my own mass.

NaPoWriMo, Day the Twenty-Third (but nine [well-spent] days late)

May 2, 2014

Wine

tints your cheeks, sparks eyes,
censors little, with laughter
broad and sexy hands.

 

Writing

churns sub-dermal, hot
and frothing, cool and still, but
not a day goes by…

You channel, charter,
funnel love and pen-carved joy,
tinged with shame but hope.

You dare with words on
screen, on page, in ear, on heart—
I’ll take your dare, dear.