Friday, September 3, 2010

3WW 11

Summer Love Affair, A Memoir

{Inside an art filled flat in London, 2010}

These diamond ropes bind me, psyche and limb. Lover breaks
my wings each midnight, only to rebuild them each dawn. There are
shadows that surface beneath his kisses as he enters in slow
negative strokes branding my tender flesh until I spill all my
secrets, again. After noon he begs me to cook but rarely lets me
eat instead feeds me with Poe and hinted danger. Pulls me through
curry smoked alleys and gloomy castles. Night blooms, all glittery
stars and velvet dreams. And I spiral into something small and trembly
in the nest of his engulfing embrace.


~ I barely escaped this addiction with a Picasso print
an antique diamond bracelet and the recipe for eggplant
masala we ate most evenings... tangible things from
an ethereal affair.

Wednesday, August 25, 2010



Your hands commit prayers on my body, circumvent
the makeshift halo surrounding my pliant being, yet
your lips abstain from my mouth, instead plant perfect
bruises the color of autumn's twilight along the length
of my collarbone...until I'm a deep river gazed upon by
a slow moving moon, that takes pieces of my soul
and this is the part you kiss as the wind kisses the clouds.


Monday, August 16, 2010


Midsummer Love

Why does my heart still smile at your tender jokes? This desire
for my jasmine-scented skin offers no leverage after our night-
time loving for the afterglow quickens with each moon passing;
and the water you draw from my well, alas, is not the sweet
remedy hoped for, for this sinking cause.


Wednesday, July 21, 2010

3WW. 8

Abide In Me

~ My heart jumps into the native air surrounding
us. Your words bait my imagination, betray my
resolve. Rough hands become savior eclipsing all.
Yet I am not a victim, for this is the kind of love
that has haunted my dreams, returning like a
restless needle searching for a place to rest.


Saturday, July 10, 2010


Not Another Moment Longer

An acrid aroma drifted into the foyer becoming stagnate
around the turn into the house's large, nearly vacant
living room. He was grilling steak, knowing she rarely
indulges in red meat. His passive-aggressive behavior
has become the bane of her existence and his tepid
denials she once found amusing are now sad and wasteful.

Margaret's eyes teared, as much from the smoke
as from a memory that tugged at her mind: Nicholas,

Making love to her on the floor of a tiny flat in Paris
cluttered with art, books and bottles of wine. His mouth
enveloping her collarbone, his hands beneath her legs
and then his lips pressed to her ear, the words he spoke

went down into her soul, a cotton candy cloud filling
her up with a sweetness only her husband could bring...

Today is their anniversary, yes he remembered
he tried to blot out the memory of young love with
the clouds of acrid smoke, but it didn't work.

He turned off the grill and threw the steaks over
the fence to the delight of the neighbor's dog.
As Nicholas walked back to the house he began to
remove his shirt and then his belt. Passing the
sink he splashed himself with water until his
face and torso were dripping wet as if he had been
baptizd in some old Burt Lancaster movie.

No more tepid tip-toeing around his wife. He
knocked over a glass on his was to the living
room, the sound thrilled him for some reason,
belling in his ears; an unexpected joy.

As he came upon her he whispered Margaret
and he covered her body with his, his mouth
took hold of hers. He felt her heart flutter,
or was it his?


Wednesday, June 23, 2010


absence of love

last night: attempting to feign love, his mouth implied
cool church courtyards hushing summer's heated flush
in the heart of a lonely childhood, and iko after feeling
abandoned for eons; laid trembling down, fixed in the
shape of an anchored starfish swishing on the ocean's
bottom, all soft-points and desire as he christened
her virtue...shattering the air.


Saturday, June 12, 2010


In dawn's white mourning...

I find myself to be a liar with intentions clearly unnoble:
stealing the waitresses' pen last night because it was so,
silvery, water trickling between her fingers and my
boyfriend pupils so large as he looked at her through his
lying eyelashes; chichi, her name, is one of those girls
I want to be - smooth and fuckable as a mermaid. I just had
to have something she touched. you see hidden in some messy
little corner of my mind are thoughts that roam like a dazed
gypsy, dirty secrets beyond boundaries judiciously set in
place, vile acts waiting to be hatched.