Browsing through souvenirs
I am reminded of you.
The door to the past swings open
releasing sleek eels of memories
where I am nothing or at best
a trembling leaf lost on a autumn breeze.
Do you ever think of me?
See me in constellations pressed against the sky,
hear me in the surge of the tide?
I would seek comfort in the moon but I am
so trivial and he is taken by the stars.
In dreams my tongue is a crimson snake
Hungrily flicking the skin of your thigh
curling around the catch in my throat.
He is god and has named me regret.
I close our door with pried fingers.
I’ve given up on prayer hands.
Art by Rita Hardy
Tell me how you pass the hours.
That slanted smile,
does it hide shackles of pride
(I have mine too).
You are my obsession,
undulating sensations that
can’t be restrained.
What I know of you
I have learned through osmosis,
the taste of ozone, like breathing air.
In worldly dreams I am wearing leather
waiting for you in a Parisian cafe.
Is there shame in what we are compelled to do? tell me
art by Michael Garmash
When I spread my wings
I can feel the pull of freedom.
I spread them wide and trail
my shadow the way birds do.
Your hands are elegant thieves
and your words a web of lies
that shine right through.
What is real or an illusion
in this desperate nest of chaos
where I found you?
When the veil falls apart and
the daylight slivers in I can see
the slant of sky where you slipped in.
Sheer scarves cover
a bed side lamp
as night slips in on tiger paws
the swaying beams of a velvet
moon drift through veils of lilac tulle
Her egg shell limbs are caught
in binds, her breasts alert gazelles
she is the red of womanhood
her eyes the shade of currency
Her mind is his confessional
and there is no sin grave enough
When I was just a shy girl
and you a blonde haired boy
we raced through wheat fields chasing.
Suddenly serious your adventurous
eyes made me shiver and your hands
stroked my body for no apparent reason.
I longed for your touch anytime and
kissed you open mouthed without permission.
I adored your mock anger when I hid away
and made you find me and the way you quickly
looked away when caught staring.
Autumn threw its shadow on sprouting
wheat where we lay naked smooth and wet.
Now I always knock before I enter your
reading room and you softly close your book
and pull me to you fierce, tender,
Art by Rob Heffernan