Meeting your body’s needs

I want bread.

We watch the dough rise,

lapping at

spilling over the edges of the bowl.



Fingers and palms wrapped,

buried in the flesh of the dough.

Folding. Stretching. Bending.

Pressing deeply, firmly.


Let it rise. Wait. Bake.


Your tan fingers

wrapped around my white hips,

squeezing so the flesh rises up around your fingers.

Leaving indentations.



We scorch our fingers

on the bread

too hot from the oven.

I lick the melted butter

running down the back of your hand.

Haiku 4

Against the blue sky

Branches blurred as by distance

Sprouting of new leaves

Haiku #3

apricot backdrop

cloud fingers beckon the night

enticing darkness

Tanka 4.29

warm bread freshly baked

the earth just after spring rains

clothes dried in the sun

a bush laden with lilacs

my sheets still smelling like you

Haiku 4.29

stormy percussion

rimshots against the window

thunder’s low bass drum