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
From my window a sliver of moon casts a haze over the water and I listen to the rush of soft waves. Those creatures beneath the depths, do they sleep, dream? If parted do they grieve? Down the street I can see lights from an all night store, a man stands behind the counter. Cautiously he slips his hand under his jacket and takes a long swig from a bottle. A group of young thugs gather outside the storefront. I imagine them harming the storekeeper. Distracted by the young whore taking shelter in a doorway, they laugh at her and whisper. Oblivious to her vulnerability she sleeps as though she has never heard of birds of prey that swoop down with unblinking eyes, hungry beaks, and talons poised for butchery. I watch closely in case I need to call out a warning but losing interest they disappear into the dark.
Maybe nothing is real, maybe everything I think, everything I see or hear is all in my head. I lose focus and the burn of you stings just below my surface. I want to sleep, forget the sound of your voice, your unforgiving eyes, not give a damn about you.
Winter does not empathize
with withered branches
or displaced birds fleeing waves of
of frozen breath.
Her howling wind is a laugh out loud and
she hasn’t the grace to cover her mouth.
A tease of holly and evergreen
flicker at the curve of billowed thighs,
glistening folds of hallowed mounds
drift in other worldly sighs
ensnared in her exquisite binds.
art by Karol Bak
Along the banks
river sand pulls away
from a glistening shore,
dusky gemstones caught in the current.
Minute ecosystems inhabit
tiny tide pools in the wet sand.
Sometimes I stroll the embankment alone
indulging the realms of lovers
where there is no logic but
a crushing ache I hold close
to my breast.
A carapace between a heart and the
mountains where I left you.
Grant me the freedom to come undone
beneath the tender weight of hands
My sigh is a gentle quake upon your
Allow me to drown in the river of
your impossible eyes where there
is no threat of war, hard silence,
or the burden of forgiveness.
Art by Steve Hanks/ Maher Art Gallery
Browsing through souvenirs
I am reminded of you.
The door to the past swings open
releasing a sleek eel of memories
where I am nothing or at best
some trembling leaf lost on a summer breeze.
Do you think of me?
See me in constellations pressed against the sky,
hear me in the surge of tide, slick sealions riding white horses?
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
flicking the skin of your thigh,
curling around the catch in my throat.
It 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
A Sheer scarf covers the
lamp on the night stand
slivers of moon light slip though
the French doors
reflecting off walls of burgundy
and egg shell limbs caught
in loose binds.
She is the red of womanhood
her breasts alert gazelles
guileless eyes are the shade of currency
her mind has become his confessional
and there is no sin grave enough
As the fog of dream lifts
I feel the tinder of your skin
on mine igniting a raging flame.
Your eyes seek out the savage
Here we are still lovers
where like a starving animal
I devour you with weak bites
never completely consuming