You started it this time.
You, with your pre-kiss,
Your huffs of air against
my teeth was softer
than the kiss that followed,
almost making me forget:
you aren’t supposed to kiss me
like that.. like you wanted me more
than in that moment.
You brought my breathing
to a crescendo then ceased.
You like it when I want
to push you from pure desire.
You made me have
to straddle you. You made me
push it to the point
where you just let go, maybe
so you don’t feel as guilty.
"Shut the fuck up"
and kissed me
because when I speak,
you fall in love.
So you kissed me,
touched me, conducted
my body like an orchestra,
then dropped the wand.
To The Moon
Oh incandescent incubator of human wonder,
Illuminating the evening with light that is not yours,
You deceive us. We think not of your Stoicism,
But of your enchanting presence through our slumber,
When marvelous marbled craters are mere pores.
Yet you hover distantly avoiding cataclysm,
Remaining barren, except for rocks astronauts plunder.
Oh, how the waves do your bidding! Falling and rising,
like notes in a sonata, you compose a tidal feat.
Your power extends to us too, for we are beings of water,
Your pale light nourishing our souls, synthesizing.
Man always needs something bigger than him to meet
At death. You were a goddess once, great Jupiter’s daughter.
Though your status has fallen, you’re forever tantalizing.
I do not know why we ceased your deification,
for you shall remain long after man’s obliteration.
The weeping willow bends by natures choice.
It bows, not breaks, with burdens flowing down.
Such beauty, power, and pain it transfers like
a mirror capturing our deepest truths.
A man has not the trunk that’s strong enough
to bare this constant kind of suffering.
Our spines, aligned, they strive to meet the sun.
Our gaze is forward, pushing gloom beside.
Yet people, we ignore the lovely mud.
The willow knows not grief, but gratitude.
My only love, I’ve lost his voice, his scent—
As well his silhouette, and oh, his touch.
But worst, his morning kiss, its taste I clutch.
These thoughts so close and yet so far he went.
With countless poems I drown in my lament
As he, abroad, comingles with the Dutch
Escaping pain so he won’t feel too much,
But I will take it tied to me, cement.
So now I vow that this shall be the last
Of poems, a drone he made of me these years
He thieved. He breathed while I was tense.
With heed I need his part no more. I cast
Him out with doubt but know redemption steers.
With this I lose my muse to common sense.
Her smile, now withers, dying right/ before your eyes can blink./ Remember lips and not her bite,/ though barges they could sink.
So grim, so slim, she waits for night./ Oh stars, they crash, just think,/ leaving without a care or fight,/ she paints her lips in pink.
me, a messy bag of leaves
veiled in a meshy membrane-
you, a scalding transparent
pool of reflective ripples.
I steeped myself into you.
I altered your composition.
The air is sweetened by your energy.
You buzz and carry me away from night.
A freshening feeling comes over me;
Electrify my spirit, make me bright.
are you under
my skin, but you’re swimming
laps within the canals of
An infestation of feelings,
has made me raid the quiet
corners of my body with
poisonous thoughts and
You’re a fungus under my fingernails.
Invasive, unwanted, and turning
me the shade of green
I never wanted to be:
toxic sludge eating through
the grass which once