There is a need for
lips pressed the press
of hands seeking.
Here in my
straight back chair
hold back the firestorm
with your elegant hands
and with your lips
claim the hollow
at my throat.
Scatter silk like
autumn leaves.
Allow me to fall
like the ripe flesh
of sweet fruit.
artist: Lu Jianjun
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
Drawn by possibility
I am at war with resistance,
A desperate allure of words
becoming flesh.
The tender momentum of hands
ignites a perfect fire on taut boughs of
willowy limbs powerless to undo a black
spell night.
Come dawn I am a periwinkle
at your pillow, pale petals of desire
bending to what is golden.
innocensedawn at pinterest
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
