Trista

Yes, I love you.
Isn't that enough?
To satisfy your soul.

Spring

I know how it will go,
T.S. Eiliot told me so
 I will wander in The Waste Land
if you remain Prufrock out in the cold.

I should beware the ides of March
lest I find my heart bleeding
on the steps of all we hold dear

My heart is a sheath for your knife.

I will buy myself lilacs
to mourn our passing
and wear them in my hair
through all of April

In the Spring
Peaches will ripen
and fall to the ground
wasted.

Sex is not a whore

a sexual woman
is not your whore
her desires
do not diminish her heart

your cock is not her god
your kisses not angels

desire washes over her
but it doesn't drag her humanity
out to sea
rather it washes her clean
of all the ambiguity
the rigid starch
formality
of playing at not wanting
what every human wants

but her desire
does not make her
your whore, your mistress, your slut.

be joyful of the sexual woman
revel in the privilege of her favors
respect the enormity of her heart

I waited all night
for the sound of your voice
but met only silence

it waited for me
hovering about my room
like some perturbed ghost
knocking over my things
rooting through the closets of my heart
creating a mess of my emotions.

My phone sits perched on my pillow
like a blackbird
it holds all my dreams
but it will not sing tonight.

for a moment
when you kissed me
I dreamed we had a future
but then I woke to find you
with your arms around another

Paper over the pain

paper over the pain

with sex

layers of orgasm

sticky

white

hardening

like plaster. 

but when I stretch

the cracks 

form

first small

rivers of doubt

then

wide caverns of pain

neither your touch

nor your kiss

can put me right again

until you agree 

to build a real foundation.

Last year on the sand

a year ago
they took our picture
before our story had really begun
back when you touched me in public
before you I begged you to hurt me
when I knew where I stood with you

before I was lost
in the ocean
of your eyes
their storms and their swells
when the sea was calm
and I walked along the beach

safe from the weatherman
who lives in my head
and re-reads the charts
looking for patterns
and meaning
when really
it is just nature at work