come drink my coffee

over the rim of the cup
let our eyes
fornicate in the
cream and sugar
spread across
the table
between us

naked honesty
wreathed only
by steam

we sip slowly
across our table
drawing out
the afterglow,
to leave
already thirsty
for more


late into the night

harvesting fields by starlight-

the storm-front moves in


across the hillside,

barking dogs circle the sheep

guiding to shelter


the aisles are flooded

with panicked humanity

searching for comfort

in the shape of water and

twelve rolls of toilet paper


tastes of tanqueray

a gin and tonic

her voice laced with cigarettes

and a twist of lime


watching him approach

under lowered eyelashes,

secretively smiles


eating the olive

she twirls the martini glass,

laughs coquettishly


conversation flows

neglected ice melts slowly

ten left on the bar


a cold ten blocks home

warm laughter in the stairwell

still tasting of lime


streetlights cast shadows
far reaching into corners
of my empty room

dust motes trace sun beams
muted brightness juxtaposed
with charcoal shadows

one ray falls upon
the spot where your pillow
always used to sleep

circling sleep

the dogs lay snoring

curled tightly into themselves

in piles at my feet


the orange kitten

circling around my legs

sneezes daintily


curled between the sheets

my mind circles the issues

unable to rest



framed by the doorway
the dark shadows of her legs
show faintly through her dress

her green dress shimmers
as it slides over her hips,
puddles on the floor

charcoal silhouette
backlit by the pale moonlight
faintly scented peach

her face a pale oval
teeth flash white in the darkness
body warm with sleep

Waking before the alarm clock

the moon-filled sky grey
beyond the cold windowpane
your mouth soft with sleep

I watch you dreaming
your still face alabaster
in the almost light

the curve of your arm
gently flows across the rise
and fall of your breath

the palest morning
tiny hairs translucent
the dip of your spine

The choice on when to settle

Monterey Bay is beautiful,

At least that’s what they say,

what I’ve been told.

I dream of going there,

stealing away for an hour,

or week or two, to

sprawl across the sand

and let the sun’s power

melt my bones

into puddles of nothingness.


But instead I watch

water-waves ripple

against the side

of the dingy bowl-

the dog lapping,

licking himself over and over

until he twists himself

into a ball on the beige carpet

and waits for the sun

to crawl across his skin.



Meaning in mascara

Mascara streaked mornings-
last night’s graffiti
scrawled across
the well-used canvas
of my face.

If only I could translate
I would remember
words I’m sure
I’d rather forget.

Snippets of memories

Deep in an evening
Autumn’s glory faded grey
Even frogs are still

The sugar maple
Prepares herself for evening
Wearing her red dress

Fasten the necklace
Fingers warm against my nape
Eyes meet in the glass

The two walk slowly
Her cheeks reddened with the cold
Or was it his kiss?

My toes are ice cubes
Sliding along your warm legs
I smile at your squeals

Warm apple cider
Laced with cloves and cinnamon
Sweet with memories

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