There are days And nights Where the only thing Keeping me from Sliding completely into the abyss From becoming a shapeless Nameless blob of ectoplasm Is your skin against my skin Your mouth against my mouth Grounding me Calling me home Even when the knowledge Has started to slip away from me Your body remembers … Continue reading Clay
It is rumored that there are 50 words In the Eskimo language for snow I ponder Why are there not 50 words in the English language That I could draw upon To describe that moment When your bare skin Touches my bare skin? Many call me a writer, a poet And yet words utterly fail … Continue reading Skin
bare skin glides against my rough edges like warm sand you buff my contours smooth mouth tracing the trail of my vertebrae you become cartographer of my ridges and valleys before breathing electricity along my spine bold fingertips find the places I ache work me like clay patiently loosen the knots I have tied myself into until … Continue reading Saturday Afternoon Poetry
It is rumored that there are 50 words In the Eskimo language for snow I ponder Why are there not 50 words in the English language That I could draw upon To describe that moment When your bare skin Touches my bare skin? Many call me a writer, a poet And yet words utterly fail … Continue reading Skin
I have always loved the first time with a new lover the sense of adventure discovery experiencing their skin for the first time unclothed vulnerable lining up our curves our edges exploring how our bodies fit together I have always loved running my hands unhurriedly over a new lover’s uncharted topography inquiring about scars and … Continue reading Bodies at Rest and Motion
Brave & Reckless 