1126 5 3
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We write poetry, but are unable to calm ourselves. We need more men of the world (like you) who are not too much amazed by experience. Men who can lead a dual life. Who have sexuality but remain detached, whole. The bodily, the sensual, easy give and ta
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101542
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After it is over, I go out into the world, to the café. The flower sellers are setting up their booth outside the glass doors. Classical guitar over the speakers. A soft rain falling. Heads bowed, reading the news. Coffee, croissants, cappuccino. This g
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70600
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This is what we will remember of each other. Right here. Another night where we prepare ourselves, as the full moon rises through the murky blue and smoke-filled sky, where the rose mist simmers above the land. And you are out there, somewhere. Only our
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4274
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You know who you are … mother/jezebel/delilah/slut/princess/lillith all and each.
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89200
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My tongue lashes out like a whip.
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15482411
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whistling some blithering tune, trotting around the kitchen in his underwear with his ribs, a long row of meatless tragedies that screamed for something other than the meal he was making.
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4092
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A moment like that can sustain a man for decades.
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74600
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Maybe in some lie you told, your life began making sense. Not mine. But your quiet beauty may be what carries you. We have to both quit eating Couch Potato Chips, and read the book Tender Is the Squid, instead. Your ghosts – they’re so soft and sensitive.
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2300
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What if, just before the taxi hits, a life passes before your eyes, but it’s another life?
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300
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A thin line parted her lips, just a slit, like something drawn with a pencil.
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1131614
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I think they stack my seat so I'll feel important. But it doesn't work.
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5000
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The damaged sky is not at all like your blonde hair tonight. The furrows run with milk light or snow, blue and white, and a world of ash floats. Your patient body sleeps and the white paint rises with your breath where the breast sleeps in its pool of o
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83400
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We entertained each other and stuck our fingers in each others’ cakes and pies and pulled them out licking them while looking at each other. I was light with youth in a white summer dress, swinging my shoe as it dangled off the tip of my toes, rubbing m
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88521
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I had a dream, I remember, where I am in this painting, Luncheon on the Grass. My dress was thrown off and the picnic basket, filled with bread and fruit, is spilled out upon it, and I am sitting nude on my underclothing, with two gentlemen fully dresse
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1112136
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4. Hers blocking driveway, his diagonal in grass
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