The Yearn, the Yen

My skin wants you,
my breasts hunt you,
in the dark of dreams,
in the dawn amid the thin green trees.

Your tongue haunts me–
slowwww, slowwww,
tiny, smooth, and charged–
your hands and mouth decant me,
like a bottle of red to be sipped.

Even wine conducts a current.
I feel the buzz and burn,
even this far away.

A Prepositional Love

August 22, 2014


A Prepositional Love

My tongue loves to be
Aboard you
About you
Above you
Across you
Moving after you
Against you
Along you
Among your parts
Around you
And at you.

My body loves you before
Loves you behind
Loves you below
Loves you beneath
Loves you beside
Loves your between
Loves you beyond
Loves you but nothing
Loves you by and by and by.

My hands love you down
Love you during (mmm)
Love you except nothing
Love you for whatever you want
Love you from all angles
Love you in
Love you into a frenzy, a calm
Love you like crazy
Love you near to complete
Love you, you of bay and green and sea
Love you off (till you get off)
Love you on back, on belly, on knees,
and on and on,
Love you onto another plane
Love you out of pure wonder
and outside of myself
Love you over (and over) (and over again)
Love you past all reason.

I love you since I knew
through thick, through thin
Under the water
And underneath the moon
Until death
Up into the stars
Upon the green hard earth.

I love you with
I love you within
I love you without.

I want to be with
I wish to be within
Don’t keep me without.

Snapshots of an Evening

August 11, 2014

Snapshots of an Evening

The tap-tapping pound of
your fingers on plastic keys,
the sound of your thoughts
being laid, played, essayed
on the screen and
straight into hearts.

The beagle snores
on the white-sheeted bed,
body propped against
the pillows, long.
She will worry at your absence,
as I always do.

The blue-white glow in your eyes,
the set of your mouth determined
as you live the call
and revel in the fun.

You pull my shoulders downward,
hard and deep,
the sheet too little and too much;
I am almost there.

Bathwater, breath, sweat,
the longing long,
the visit short
…much too short.

The Echo of (e)Motion

August 5, 2014

The Echo of (e)Motion

You know how you can feel
the roller coaster’s motion
hours later, still,
as you head for bed?
The brain fluids must still be sloshing,
resonating motion-waves still lapping the skull’s shores.

I still feel the unsteady floor of the plane,
the gentle wash of the punting boat,
the suggestive rocking back and forth of the tube car,
the rolling of you
in and on and under.

You whispered in my ear just now.
I felt your hair on my face as you whispered.
I wish you were here.

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,
looking down,
a rich spread laid out
in panorama before me,
a feast for fingers and mouth,
a soft landing for
my own mass.