Monday, July 19, 2010

Smothered in a Freshly Dried Comforter

In weather like this
smoke doesn't float
away it just hangs,
like a cloud around
your face. You are
your own fog machine
creating a shroud of
mystery you'll never
be able to dissolve.

It takes a fool to
attempt obliteration
as a path to brilliance.
Someone blind enough to
mistake making bruises for
forming a cocoon.
Optimistic enough to
hope that once they fall
through the bottom
they'll be out of the box for good.

Wednesday, July 7, 2010


I'm forcing myself to write more.  If this is what I think I'm going to do for a living, I have to practice, right? It doesn't make perfect, but it makes (I make) words. I could become a word, a piece of language itself, with a little practice and a little confidence.  Live amongst them and learn their ways, gain their trust and when the time is right, exploit them for my own gain. This will be the first toe in the waters of conquest, I'm stealing language right out from under it's keepers.  Proper English, the kind no one expected me to learn to speak or write, will redeem me and give me a voice.  It will be my armor.

It's time to aspirate, remove the blockages, and breathe. Open the passageways and hope that the words I've been taking for granted remember just how good I can be to them.  It's been a time of negligence and self-indulgence.  A lapse into forgetfulness, a loss of responsibility, attentions spread too thin.  I apologize. And I'm back, for real this time. I promise.

Your Humble Conquistadora,

Monday, July 5, 2010

Memory Foam

I pack light, knowing that I can't afford to dwell,
the only promises I make are guarantees not to stay long.

You'll barely know I've been here,
except for that vague feeling within you,
like the sound of knuckles on honeydew,
once I'm gone.  And even that will fade,
just like my face from your mind. Like my form
from the empty side of your bed.

Neccessary Roughness

Dearest, I know we share
a guilty love affair.  One
that leaves me both ashamed
and satisfied.  It's not the fact
that we've met, so much as how
we've been meeting.  The parts of you
I love most are so rough-edged and seedy.

Why do you hide in such dark places, what I'd do in the light?

I promise, I can give as good as I can take
it.  There's roughness required
when bodies collide naked.
When sweat pools and grips tighten
and lips soften the blow of love bites.

Oh, what's a girl to do?
It's so "unladylike" to want things the way I do.

Thursday, July 1, 2010


I would forgive the burden
of what a relationship can become,
for a light brush of fingertips
down my spine. Or
a set of lips to trace my shoulder blades.
A warm neck to nuzzle and bite;
the sound of pleasure expressed
through a voice box in sighs.
This description may seems too physical
as if it has no heart, but truth
is the whole is never quite equal
to it's parts. Each
desired moment stands alone
in this dearth of intimate contact.  They
become monoliths growing like measuring
tape from the most recent basis for comparison.
So I'm lying in wait like a rattlesnake.
Coiled to strike with lust hidden
in smiles and idle chatter.  I will substitute
those defensive rattles for the soft slither
of the hunter.  I long to become
a fragile and driven thing.