Smoke in the Shadows

He is waiting
for you here
in the darkness
of the bar,
smoke swirling
in the half
light, gray
dragon tendrils
filling the air,
filling your lungs
as you peer
into the shadows –
searching. 

A laugh ruptures
the uneasy hum
of conversation
pushing aside
the smoke
and the shadows
for only a moment
and then it’s gone
so quickly
you can’t be
sure if that was
his laugh
or one just like it. 

Then it comes again
in waves,
pushing you
back toward
the door
and into the light
of street lamps
and a distant moon
and you are running
running away, running free,
fleeing from the darkness –
the smoke in the shadows.

Tiny Moments

There are points
in each day
when I don’t think
about her,

when the dark
curls of her hair
aren’t twined
around my finger,

when the curve
of her lips
isn’t pressed
to the curve
of mine,

when I can’t
taste her
on my tongue.

There are points
in each day
when I stop
breathing

for tiny moments,
so still,

tiny moments
that cannot last.

My mouth opens,
gulping air,
my lungs fill.

My mind explodes,
filling again
with all of her.

There Isn’t Time

In the bathroom,
towel-wrapped head
body layered
in soft terry robe

you sit
on that white thing
you call a ‘poof’
fiddling with
your toenails

one breast,
nipple pert,
peeks out
as I step
from the shower
fumbling for
my own towel

I’d like to climb
inside that robe
nestle, nuzzle
caress that breast

but there just
isn’t time

I can hear
the kids
in the next room
fighting over
the remote.

The Homeless Couple has a Barbecue

The homeless couple
is having a barbecue
at Winchester park today.

He wears his baggy
jeans so low
we see he is
a Jockey man.

She holds a small, pink
mirror
to shade her face
until they encamp
beneath the blooming
cherry blossom.

His tiny grill wobbles
on four unsteady legs
falling forward
and then back.

She says something
he cannot hear,

the mirror
reflecting her voice.

Growing angry
with her
mumbling
and the fucking
grill, he tucks
the son-of-a-bitch
under his arm,
striding away,

his gait
more of a waddle
because his pants
ride so low.

She hurries after
him, quick
short steps
in high heels,

the pink mirror
a perfect parasol.

Any Excuse

I dare you out
into the snow,
watch your naked
body go pink
from the cold

and when you are
back in the heat,
nipples
erect,

I pull your
chill body down
atop my warmth,
a fevered reward.

Salt Water Drips on the Tiles

The ocean had finished
with us, tossing
our alien bodies
back on land
with a last great
swell

we retreated inside
helping each other
out of wet suits
our hidden bodies
gone pink
nipples at attention
in the cool
conditioned air
of our bungalow

I took you
by the waist,
fingers splayed
across goose-flesh,
guided you beneath
borrowed sheets

and warmed
your shivering body
oh so slowly

I Met  a Girl Named Deluxe

she isn’t a stripper
though you might
not know it
just by reading
the curves
of her cover

she’s a stenographer
a word
I had to look
up, thinking
they were all
extinct

and a scientologist
which makes
me wonder
what it would take
to impress
her enough

she wears boots
that are perhaps
too high
for her profession
but all the judges
give her a pass
they are men

and her skin
is such a mystifying
tone, her
breasts
seem to defy
both gravity
and logic

I met Deluxe
on a Friday

the 13th

she is the black
pussycat
crossing my path
to disastrous
result

SuperHero

it’s not the boots
that draw me

thigh high
though they may be

studded, spangled
with stars

nor is it
the mystic bracers

encircling
your righteous wrists

their glimmer
and shine not enough

your fluttering cape
snapping to attention

the golden
garland wreathed

through your hair
with such heroic flair

mirrored
in tiny hoops

through each ear
these captivate, enthrall

but alone are not
dynamic enough

to entice me,
nor the strength

of your countenance,
the mighty

purpose of your
gaze, though hypnotize

it may, something
other is your power

the naked weakness
you try in vain

to cloak
draws the villain

in me from
his veiled lair

Bete Noire

I have set myself
upon this devil’s
throne, a demi-kingdom
of my own creation
smoldering below

am I smiling

is that a twisted
smirk, a growl

snarling thunder
builds behind
distant peaks

you can plumb
these eyes
for the throe
see me
rotting inside

but then
I will be
inside you

the haunting

my eyes
burning
into you
tiny lightning

your spleen
will suffer
such strikes
dropsy, dyspnoea
splenomegaly

such are the vapors
of that organ

you will grovel
and quail
upon the arm
of this throne

and I will sharpen
my horns
upon your trembling

Some Facts We Need To Face

I do not miss
your lips
(how could I)

nor do i miss
your athletic
thighs, so
delicious or

your knobby little
knees, perfect
ankles

I crave
what comes
from between 
those lips

though I may dream
of rabid, humid
kisses
I thirst

for what lies above
your knees
between your thighs

I smolder
with thoughts
of you
inside out