traitorous space/the ones left behind

The meager space between our wrists
morphs into dangerous temptation.

Step by step under broiling white lights,
slowly, suddenly, slyly…floating away from
coded commitments and shapeless sheets,
we fall into fair florid irises, promising
all without so much as a word.

Traitorous space
briskly, bindingly, boldly…slips swiftly away
in our hour of need.


:::where the cherries grew:::

Kiss me in daylight
neath June’s lying skies.
Our flesh is still young yet
but won’t be for long,
think back to our misplaced and lost loving song.

It’s faint as a fox kiss,
yet there nonetheless,
I dare you to hear it
with ears that submit.

And if that melody, old but new
should take firm hold inside of you,
come find me where the cherries grew.
I’ll be there with a kiss for you.

Christmas Gift (Ships in the Night)

The return flight to San Diego is delayed by at least an hour.

Staring into the vast expanse of JFK, brown eyes size up
passengers sitting in Gate 35’s midnight pleather seats.

An elderly couple decked out in matching snowman sweaters next
to a very white college student sporting dreadlocks pulled into a
ponytail, typing away at his macbook next to a gal with straight
platinum golden blond hair.  Her eyes are closed, yet she is awake.

Eyes wander on.
Eyes wander back.

The shape of that head…that glossy hair,
etched into his memory from nights long ago,
when his fingers had run through such lovely locks.

Content to play voyeur, he snaps a secret cell phone photo,
knowing that he shall never see her again.


Slipping off the costume once again,
you become a sweet creature of dreams.

The common body, buried beneath
a flimsy gauze of naught, is shared with
no one save the Devil.

Slipping off the costume once again,
you become a hellion of horrors.

What is revealed?
The darkest parts that have no shame.
What is concealed?
The golden parts that have no aim.