late night snacks

I lick the face of the night.
Canines sharp as toddlers. Baby teeth not yet cut.


I am searching for a focal point, razor sharp, like headlights weaving through the creaks of a faraway road.


In the interim I swallow masticated memories and write fan fictions on the roof of my mouth.

the refridgerator light flickers.though we dance, it is not what I am looking for.

a broken promise

so easily tangled. sliding between.
my chasteness undone
with swift movements
don't
stop
now

on reflection

I wonder if you would notice my absence. If a coldness would seep into the room. These water colours bleed like maidens. Heamorraging grief and anger and fear.

I am striking you off my to do list. I am unsteady like a drunkards gait.

requiem

a steady throb.

I forsake every romantic gesture. my psyche is a kaledioscope. writing the names of all of my lovers on my skin.

It's not that I miss you. I just like the way acheing sits in my body.

Ctrl Alt Del

My finger hovers over the delete key. I press the space bar instead. Try to get some distance between our vowels. The consants hover like dead air, sandwiched into adjectiveless verbs.

Non descript.

My serves are caught in the net. There is no bounce back. No love all. You are not clamouring and I am not clasping.

We make a fine pair, you and I.

I could pour all my passion into the sand. See the red on red reflected. Slip sensual somethings into my tea like artificial sweetner. Spend nights alone in my room with ribbon, chiffon and lace, seducing the mirror, relishing absence. Tasting isolation so heady I fall back onto my bed.

indifferent lover

I fear my lover has already left me.

The silence stalks me about the house. I pen love letters to abandon them. Leave dirty marks on the furniture as I brush up against tables, chairs and washing lines.

I am drowning in romance as you stand grimacing from the shore.

Heavy petting does not come lightly. Free never meant to be cheap. I was offering heady liberation, a surrender to something more beautiful than your own reflection. A chance to glimpse through the mundane sounds of passing pedestrians and lose all sense of direction in someone elses body. Someone elses soul.

You mistook it for a handout.
It was a gift.

radiance

she purred like an engine as the door clicked closed behind her.

in measured steps, with swooning hips, she entered the light. fixed her eyes on the place in the glare she imagined he'd be.

beyond the light was darkness swallowing sound. the occasional growl of distant cars cutting through the cicadas and rustling trees. the tingle in her spine was impossible to identify as fear or excitement or both. with a gulp of air she began.

fabric peeled like soft fruit. delicately lest flesh be bruised below. layers discarded on dirt. swaying her body in time to a unidentified tune she hummed to herself.

her body awash in light, a lone figure in the landscape. a slow steady ritual of vunerability. she practiced courage with every breath.

seperation

the recipe called for yolks.

thin skins cracked on metal. oozing yellows surrounded by translucent sticky, she let the liquid slide from shell to shell. convincing that which was inseperable to slowly come apart. the finest jagged edge slicing through the membrane, sliding slowly into the awaiting glass.

the richest part was blended into awaiting sugars and butters and creams.
that which remained was stored for whipping into soft white shimmering peaks.

sounding out the sky

the rumbles reverberated through her. she was a sounding board for the rain. the echoes pulsated in droplets, sliding swollen from leaf to leaf.

the journey from knee to crotch was agonisingly slow. she counted four swift intakes of air.
the renegade rain drop collided her underwear. melted through cotton and hair onto skin.

she shuddered from spines to sacrum.
in time with the heavens

both pining for rain.

power surges and blackouts

paralysed in the black out. single bed soaked with shower water and sweat. relentless humidity provokes insomnia and libidinous thoughts. 

the taunting tempests, the distraction from diligence. 

it must be the weather that makes me this way. 

briney fingers  simulate sorbet and papaya fantasies. the room is pungent as my aching. i am relentless in my fixations. silver strands of salt slick up my spine.