The thief in the night that everyone speaks of
is here
right beside me
in my bed,
powerless and hand tied.
I steal from him,
his love
his passion
his swiftly vibrato.
I engulf his existence in the daylight,
taking him from the darkness
where he preys the most.
And I take and take
making sure I leave my mark,
in honor of the things he may have confiscated
from sad girls in their 20’s.

Bone pile

There is no place to hide from the exploitation of life.
Pretty illusions and tarnish-rimmed struggles
have ruined us.
The taste of metallic on our tongues,
aging of our organs,
we deteriorate in our sleep.
While we’re making love,
while we’re on our way to work, we share our dying bodies
with the world.
Losing a lapse with memories,
our strained eyes give up on us,
liquefying reality.
We dilute the present to forget we have to die
but it doesn’t forget us.
It watches from a distance,
whispering to us in our lack-lustered days.
Death is our mother’s warning
and our Daddy’s silence,
it awaits us
holding no grudges,
for our disregard.




My mother once told me to be sure
my coming was a sharp offense.
To drink and live what have destroyed some men.
She says, “We died a hundred times,
ate thunder and tasted the rain,
drawn down the moon
and called the sun by name.”
I kneeled at her waist as she anointed me.
She sang for the trees to awake,
to let them follow me to you and
let their branches sway like my hips
and chase your coloured phantom on the air.
She had said, once I found  you
to be all woman
of flesh
and blood,
and mystery.

Thirteen Commandments

  1. You can’t set me in a corner
    and summon me when you please
  2. You can’t place our love in a mason jar
    and watch it grow greens and yellow fungi
  3. You can’t force feed me intimacy,
    and leave my feet un-rubbed
  4. You can’t bring me the orange beauty of the sun
    and don’t provide a shade
  5. You can’t leave for long
    and expect me to still be there
  6. You can’t nail me down
    and use what you want
  7. You can’t seek me out,
    and don’t indulge in me only
  8. You can’t send me out into space
    and speak of gravity
  9. You can’t plant petunia seeds in my mind
    and not tend to the flowering buds
  10. You can’t tag my wall with “I was here”,
    and then deny it
  11. You can’t allow your home as my resting place
    and then shoo me away when you want
  12. You can’t call me Baby,
    and forget my name.
  13. You damn sure can’t have any of my wine.

moth to a flame

A luminescent aura pulsates on through the lazy days, and the calling nights
of clashing tongues and mocking vagueness.
The room, an impractical haven with ghost colored walls and buzzing sounds
from the whirling fan are nearly deafening.
This is a special place however. Here is where he explodes me
into glittery matter. Here I lay my existence on the line
for the beard, the hands, the naked chest, and the easy limbs.
I am a moth to his flame.
He flashes, then there’s smoke and then I die.
I’m left there on this bed and in this room with no form,
no structure. Just a pheromone, of stinking woman in love.

summer: an interlude

the iced coffee sitting beside me
sweats in the heat of the sun,
i grab for it
the sharpness of the emerald grass
tickles my backside of my hand,
it sends me back to a faint memoir of
being planted
in your embrace,
back kisses and warm skin,
my libido red hot,
my labia minora, a coveter
for his tongue.
my body goes hot from the thought
or from the mild rays above.
in fact, he reminds me of the sun,
leaving me in infatuation with
unconditional warmth
and a dry wind

he’s like summer