The selfish self-love
can you concede?
I am finally me.
I don’t look the same,
skin is fresh
of a newborn child.
a finish line.
And now, new tape to brake.
No need to escape.

I am reborn.


Once the Sky, Now Mine

Take a moment to catch your breath.
Blow that last wisp of air against my neck.
Guide my hand under the sheen of your guise,
don’t hide your smile, your lips were meant to please mine.

The curved silhouette, your scent, hanging long, removed from this space.
The touch of patchwork memories, wanting, longing, overcome by your face.
Working under an emblazoned sky, until the end of time…

Pillows in the Sky

Lazy morning dynamics, how my mind shifts.
Yesterday’s blazing heat gone, climate shifted with my head, amplified and drifts,
and now everything feels right.

I watch the skies float on by, someones hand guiding their way, over-stuffed pillows hanging in perpetual motion.
Viewed from this speck- I must look so tiny from up there.

The day is for reminiscing, a distance from where the morning blooms.
Here in my head, enough space for two, or maybe on my lap, seated- just me and you.

I sit here waiting for the beauty of another chance at life.
Sunlight smiles down, the plight of serenity, and everything just right.
Clouds roll by, conveying how simple this all is…

Counting Daylight

The need for you, us… lust
and to deny human touch.
Where were you all those years?
I gave up.
My head scanned for you, imminent souls colliding,
physical yearning, and nothing left to deny me.
Nothing special here,
I saved my guts to stretch
out on your bed,
just to hold the back of your head,
your neck clamped in my vice grip fingers.
Weigh me down and pinned inside your spare, fervent thighs,
so tightly wound, box me in,
make the sheets tremor and writhe.
Left to the mercy of night, or anytime the urge
takes you from prostrate,
to legs and waist,
coiling in the sheets where I can find your warm spots,
wasted not– but taken fully in stride,
and grappled flesh, impossible to hide.
Never lost on a man, who cannot adore you enough.
Counting the digital numbers, seconds, and texts;
all drawn out in hours, not breaths
… Until the next moment we touch.


Circle the sky,
defiant looks up from our questioning eyes-
the displacement of clouds meeting the rain ,
the oncoming storm crackling in the backdrop, not as color,
but drowned out backlit charcoal,
penciled in the midst of flickering,
lightning streaks,
and the teardrops that once coursed down cheeks.
Skin, worn thin, cheapened by past lovers-
powder white drowning at night ,
skin calloused fingertips holding the sunlight
porcelain, and the flourish of beauty…
sparks between us.

Standing in the fusion of smiles,
eyes reflect, entranced,
not a passing glance.
Real love, meeting at a solitary crosswalk,
Where gravel kisses the stream,
the waters hiding the mud stained revival,
lips soak each other
and dampens the dry souls
The same that fell asleep cold, wet …
Once distant,
bound to new life amidst the stranglehold.
Affection, a new taste, polarizing even the most
selfish persona.

We exchange glances,
and then ride away
in the same car.
Laughing and smiling at the passing storm…