Month: October 2011

i imagine

he must have registered a certain shock,
bemused, spent, gasping for strength
and clarity– not explanation,
for if anyone has seen the fruit of such sweet labor
surely it is a man himself, in the pale hours;

but even so, he must have been blindsided, and she–
before decorum, even, coarse and crying creature,
shuddering for each rank sweet breath over his shoulder
as if he propelled her lungs to their duty–

surely she believed herself to be dying,
writhing as she did upon all the white glows
the searing novelty, the quivering-thigh curiosities
(and somewhere in her pride of place at being first)–

though i will wager nothing so much shook her foundation
as her clawing hands, her tight legs,
her wordless mouth no less desperate
in its hunger, its precious rage, its succulent furor
its cry for more.

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and more

take the press of your lips
to my throat, angry nails
carving my shoulders into cave walls, take
the hieroglyphs across my back
painted with your mouthbrush and tongue;

take the night i said it in so many words,
how you held me–
how you held me later and your tongue
said want without vocal cords

take the tremble of my smile
as you lay sleeping in oatmeal–
take, too, my first gasp
as you slid hurtful and precious already
inside me–

everything from me, if it can be temporary,
take it, but please
don’t take your backpack into the house.
we can’t leave without you.

snotty love poems

even your snores are sweet to me now–
grating susurrations sweeping your soft palate,
their fingernails scratching for purchase
in the grooves of your mouth.

they want to cling to you,
and watching you sleep beside me again
i can’t blame them.

i love you like the dirt that sits under your nails
and i think i’m a little crazy now,
because the slick of drool i wiped from your mouth
seemed for a moment to glisten almost beautifully.

let me nestle here against you in my madness,
for here alone i am content.

aurora borealis

i wish i was asleep
these stars slide so slow across the hour,
remind me of the place behind my lids where
no is a vague notion
furthered by naysaying dreamless,
the sun is a stepping stone and
my body is only the anchor
by which i measure how high i am flying–
and somewhere on the other side of the world,
there’s a you awake and drowsy,
murmuring a pulse into the sleeping ear
of a content and curling me.