Poetry, portfolio

Fingertips find each other
Delicate, adjusting,
Hesitant first…
Flowers grow, in-between
Spaces growing smaller…
Alive in all senses
Singing operatic chords,
Gushing lightning and rivers.

You tease your fingers along mine
Lips linger in my palm.
Cool, sweet saliva
Drives my hands to your waist.

You run yours through my hair,
Blonde velvet swaying for you.
I arch like the opening
To a stately home…
Where roses are blue
In a sea of green…
Where still I would find
My way back to you…

I fall forward, to you, lean in your arms,
Slow breath warm, familiar, of you…

The universe awakens,
In the darkest corners
Of your eyes.

Poetry, portfolio

Not quite pain,
Not soft, not rough.

My back burns
My lobster hands, un-phased.
Water reddens my skin
And I am cleaned as a steamed suit.

The toaster no longer
Exalts it’s own pop-up reaction
From me.
My fingers turn crumpets easily.

And your name,
Not quite pain, nor soft, nor rough,
Brands my heart no more –

Time has numbed me,
But protected me, I’m unsure –

My hands still burn, see…
I’m afraid one day, they’ll scorch.

Cliché: A Poem

Poetry, portfolio

my heart is broken
shot into a million pieces
but what doesn’t kill you
makes you stronger…

i float at sea,
lost in pea green boat, and
when it rains, it pours
but every cloud has a silver lining

i come back to you (again)
“cat got your tongue?”
“it’s not you, it’s me…”
and the rest is history…
fool me once, shame on you,
fool me twice, shame on me

don’t judge a poem
by it’s cover
i know it’s a cliché…
did i give it away?
but watch it sell
like hotcakes
and with that ,
i’ll hit the hay