Homeless

I am penniless
yet wealthy beyond my peers.
Measured not in tokens of gold
but in tallies of smiles
your gentle face has
stamped upon my chest.
To most, if not all,
you are your breasts,
your ass,
to me, too, you are those things,
but a woman first.
A butterfly
floating from one flower to the next
kissing them with your silky wings.
I confess to be uncontented
by the practical distance
between your hips and mine.
Homelessly, I await at your door
begging shelter, warmth,
within your temple.

Meadow Street

Last night
you came
in my sleep
whispering how much
you had missed
our precious time.
First in jeans
then in a long black
dress outlined
in silver sequins,
hugging close.
We laughed
as children playing.

Last night
a beast
in my mind,
reality's vicious monster,
lie in the dark,
waiting to pounce
on us two
unsuspecting deer
as we frolicked
under the moon.
Lips licking.

Last night
I awoke
prey to sand
slipping through,
drowning in sunlight,
gasping for night,
enslaved in
a foreign home,
chained fast to
a strange bed.
Victimized by the sun.

The Professor

Wear Dasani like a dress.
Let it cover your curves,
your hair.
Let it roll off your roof
spilling to the ground.
Let it drip down the windows
of your church through the cracks.
Honor God
call out to him, or her.
Deep inside the hourglass
where time is measured in breath
and in beads of sweat.

Bette Davis

Remember the night
your kitchen became
our theater?
When the spotlight
beamed down on us,
Redding blue echoes
these arms of mine.
Like an alcoholic
resisting drink-
and growing weaker
with every breath
of your hair.
The memory
sickens the soul-
these moments-
and others-
though beautiful,
are hacked up
and amputated
because of gangrene.
Like waves
these infectious
reminders of the dark
dwindle in time
giving-in to blissfulness
and heartache,
only to return
perfectly timed
without forgiveness.

Fashion

An Asian woman
offered to cut
my hair today
for ten dollars.
I would, gladly,
but my hair is
numerous, and thick,
and her fingers are worn.
Such a silly thing it is
to wear hats.

Pretenses

Another warm day
and you come out
with your friends.
I saw you smiling
was it for me?
What do your friends think?
Do they long for my hands?
We could all dance together
the four of us.
We could lie in the grass
warming in the sun
and in each other.
Passerbys could jealously stare
pointing fingers at
the lines of our sonnet.
You and your friends
could fall from the tree-
ripened red passion fruit-
lusciously melting in my mouth.
We could be stringless puppets,
stringing each other along,
trading empty promises
one coffee ground at a time.

My blue notebook

If you would draw me
one single picture
simplistic or detailed
from it I would write
words that would impress.
You would see through
my lines of lust
to the heart of the matter.
I'm aware that your art
may well waite on mine
thereby slowly slipping away.
Yet this love for you
paralyzes me with fears
I've not known before.
I feel you curiously
looking at my blue notebook,
trying to catch a glimpse
inside my pen's process.
I walk away
leaving it wide open
knowing you'll be laughing
when I return.
Perhaps instead you'll
pick it up
and draw me a picture.