please touch, please reach through
worlds, and rescue, grasp, tease
hold firm and wrap yourself
around these vacant needs
Tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock.
Oh, where do the hours go?
The eyes begin to dance,
No more concern for romance.
A slight touch of the hand,
Weakness sets in and you cannot stand.
This passion yearns to be fed,
A tangled mess of naked flesh falls to the bed.
The nails claw and tear,
Hair and sweat are all you wear.
Blinded no more are we
On our hopes that were forlorn
Now that we finally see
The light of darkness’ morn
Sure I chased you
And never found you
But you kept that spark alive
play – staged a small street
a clean name…linen hall
Probe my pistils
and my stamen.
the rarest flower,
the chocolate orchid;
Through foggy, disjointed
Your hand touched mine
And I felt the heat.
Flow like a
River to the
How I have abused your
Unassuming welcome –
Ravished receptacle for my
But it hurt when I pulled,
and all the bits bled
It made my heart ache, and
it stained my hands red
There will come a day when the leaves no longer
They will have been plucked and fallen
Down the darkest hole,
The branches will droop diminished
And you will sacrifice your hope
Of saving his last few minutes,
This air is the air of an oven,
it is so deathly hot.
For days the sun has been crisping the microbes.
A boy has disappeared from the village.
2AM and the foothills of the Pyrénées
lit with light flashes between the dark spaces of trees,
foliage on foliage.
Sparks of light glitter the mountain sides.
Up here- mountains before us, village below us-
it’s like an ant farm, lines of lights
following the twists and turns between
row after row of houses
scaling slowly into the mountains
for the third consecutive night.
The day it happened,
we’d walked into the foothills,
What I don’t understand, however,
Is why you thought I wouldn’t notice
Her shadows on the sheets
After you had been together,
When lips touched, Niagara’s falls heightened up speed,
The waves crashed faster, so I just took the lead.
Emotions were high. Might as well call it weed,
DNA spilled profusely. You chose to let it bleed.
Me? I’m no angel. I’m guilty as charged,
Convicted of attraction. Eternally at large.
The judge should throw the book at my seductive soul,
Probation wouldn’t work. Control is my goal.
Starlight on waves that swayed,
Misty cloud dreams from the first of days.
Thus glowing comet trails pulsed as if to say: