NYC Woman

Waves of bleach blonde.
Red lips, red nails.
Long legs, porcelain skin.
Perfecting the art of seduction.

Wine glasses full.
Critiquing ancient art.
Conversations with strangers.
Passing the time.

Hoping & Wishing

I want our forevers to last.
For the roses to never wilt.
For there to be no one else.
Our youth to never fade.

I want to freeze the moments in bed.
For my bed to be ours.
For you to never forget me.
Our embrace kept.

I want memories to come.
For never ending memories. 
For you to be by my side.
Our love on and on and on and on.

Lust

pink flesh

beautiful like a wound

grasping hands

wet tongues

the staircase to ecstasy

heavy breathing

wet wet wet

hot hot hot

entwined

together

two become one

Sweet and Slow Moments

The sweet and slow moments
when flies are unzipped
and bras clasps come undone.

I remember them days later,
romanticizing the whole thing.

But the next morning
his scent on my skin,
on my bed-sheets,
helps me remember
it wasn't just a dream
but as real as the ache in my heart.

Internal Chaos

The electric atoms
buzzed in excitement
but there were no tell tale signs
as she sat still,
unmoving,
as poised and elegant
as a marble statue.

There was no physical expression
of how hard her heart beat
or how many thoughts
overwhelmed her mind.

She was as pretty
and still
as a photograph.
She was waiting.

Oregon Winters

Your cold hands and my cold nose.
We nestle in fur
against each other.

Under blue Christmas lights.
The fireplace humming.

My nipples hard,
your mouth always finds them.

You keep me warm
in Oregon winters.

We become hot together.

The Old Barn

    The barn is red but the paint is peeling. It chips off the rotting wood easily, almost effortlessly. The wood smells slightly. It has absorbed the weather over so many years.
    It is the only thing to be seen. Beyond it are fields upon fields of wheat. And there is this barn in the middle of it all. A tornado could pick it up like it was nothing. Hell, the wood is so rotted I could probably knock a side of it down if I really tried.
    The barn has some animals in it. chickens, pigs, and a few cows. They don't mind the old barn. The barn has seen decades of these animals. They need each other. Even a rotting, peeling barn needs some inhabitants, some young-ins, to feel a purpose. Otherwise what is it but an old, hollow thing no one wants or needs.
    The fields will keep growing. They have for a long, long time. But one day, that barn is gonna collapse and soon after that it'll be like it was never there at all.

Ice, Blooming, Heat, Leaves, Ice

It's strange to see all the seasons change

when you're in love.

They take on a new meaning.

They become significant.

Milestones.

Love grows as the cycle repeats itself.

Ice then blooming,

Heat then changing leaves,

and ice again.

Full circle.

You become more and more attached

to this one person.

One year,

Five years,

Ten years,

Seeing the seasons repeat themselves.

Memories of an Old Man

The man was old now.

But his youth was still within him.

It struggled out of the cracks

straining to get through.

His memories were vivid.

The war

how heavy his gun was

the early dawns in a foreign land

the overwhelming noise.

And oh, the girls of his youth.

He still remembered

how soft their legs were

how soft the curls in their hair were

and their innocent faces.

He closed his eyes and sat back

ignoring the creaks in his bones.

He remembered

as if they weren't memories

but reality.

Deciphering You

The mystery of the modern

man alludes me.

All I can do is marvel.

The technical lights blink

and the city lights blur

into one starry

pretty mass

as the nights pass by

and my life goes on.

As I learn more tricks

my salty tears never

fall and my legs just

keep walking.

New voices, faces,

bodies enter

my world only to leave.

I’ll eventually become

acquainted with every

different type of hurt.

But the mysteries still

remain and never will

I figure out how to

decipher you.

Melancholy Songs

Witches in the tops

of dark trees.

And sad little houses

with hungry chickens

in the yard.

The wind howls

and chills run through

my ivory colored bones.

Howls like lonely wolves

and night permeating.

Water dripping from

my dark hair.

Young romance.

And I’m sinking

into a lake

from the window

of a passing train.

Unusual Youth

Gasping for air.

Swimming towards

the surface.

Self-medicating.

Living by the patterns

of the moon.

Veins that pulse.

Ash Wednesday

Alcohol sliding into my veins

flight through haziness

distilled clear elixir

mixing with my unspilled blood

smooth on my twisting tongue.

I am merely hoping for the best.

Pureness contaminated

but good intentions still slurred.

Next dawn I am raw

pain, a rite,

following an attempt at euphoria

I see them with dirty crosses

marking faith on display.

I have no ashy cross

only one bejeweled on a necklace.

Hovering between nirvana and “hell”

my bare forehead tells it all.

It’s alright

music has always healed me

better than prayer.

It's All Nonsense To Everyone Else

Looking far away

at a mountain range.

I want the past

To disappear down,

down anywhere,

down into a tunnel,

and out of mind.

I am the catalyst.

Nail polish chips off my nails.

My lips sip soda-pop.

I count the months together.

I dream about ships and valleys

And a giant wolf telling me

To plant thoughts in oranges.

It’s all nonsense to everyone else.

Some things I make up.

Some things are only in my head.