Wet

I want you to
penetrate me
with your cold
and soft shafts
of light.

I want to feel
you wet
and reaching
out to me
from beneath.

I’ll let your
waters lap
at me
until I am
open, and
charmed.

Extended,
and arched,
my heated limbs
are cradled
by your
gentle arms.

Waking,
I shiver
off your cold
and find
my hair
drizzled with
your dew.

God,
let me feel
your warmth
again.

Trepidation

each moment
i have
you fill

alone. when
the world
dims,
somehow,
you meet me
still.

for you are
the question
i have when
it's dark,

i whisper
your name
in fear
and
trembling

with tired hands
i can feel you
still
and hear your
soft breath
whimper
my name.

Beneath Your Waves

It was my summer at sea,
the sun hiding under my blanket.
You were seven miles deep,
beneath me,
and now all I can taste
are salted meats.

Sometimes at sunrise I sleep
till you peer through me hard,
starboard side.
But I am cold,
and vibrating.

I feel like a boy against his
Father’s empty horizon -
two shades of blue, one line,
and no one dancing.

At night the crowd mingles,
their feet are flashlights against
the dark deep of all they fear,

like children, we are not safe anymore.

Phoenix

Wrapped in your cocoon I am
safe until midnight when your
streetlamp gas fills the city
with orange haze, and violent
youth picket locks of young girls,
and the howls of desert dogs
are muffled inside garage door
fortresses laced with blue cocaine.

Outside I hear
your faint voice in alleyways, your face
in the dust of a 45 drive-by.
I am surrounded. Overhead,
the sky dims, and the moonlight
is stagelight for riot and revolution.

But since your hands are old,
I will rise and perch as the Phoenix,
jumping rooftops until I burst
in bloom over your city.

Dearly Departed Sun

from Friday, March 6, 2009

I told you I would follow you
until the path to your heart
became an open womb,
for me to enter, and rest.

You are not near to me
anymore. So I wait,
listen, and together
with the silence, weep.

Overhead, the moon lifts
her skirt, And dances
just like you did, before
our first summer storm.

In Spring, You Too Will Bloom

from Wednesday, March 4, 2009

My love
in the morning light,
lingered above my burning bed.

At dawn, the doves fly,
and a rose bush stirs
outside my window,
you still belong to me.

I reach my hand
to your neck
and mingle
my tears with yours.

I beg you not to leave
me alone
as twilight is coming
and
shadows of strangers
seek me in the night.

I have no candle left
for you to find me,
my love, please
follow this whisper
of orange blossoms
from my open window

You kissed me once
and now you have me
unravished, and pure.

Sometimes when your scent
Crosses my path, I am
charmed by your breath.
My feet sit in water dark,
and deep, I am bare,
and still, with just
a little light.

Part 8 of 23: Song of the Sunday Ghost

from Monday, January 12, 2009

I told you this house was upside down,
its hard-wood ceilings and spackled
stucco floors still stain my soft feet
with blood blisters, white with dust.

We could make love on holy ground.
You tease me with your blouse instead.