Tag Archives: romance

Level

Girl, I will write you for a long, seething bask, Light seeks its own level. Advertisements

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Girl and the Moon

There is the snake and there is the amen and perhaps there’s not really much difference between the two. Like you, and the moon, and how my longing bleeds a fugitive overlap, i.e, where exactly does the queenly orb of … Continue reading

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Red Alert

While the beauty and magmic intensity of Vesuvius is something to behold it pales in comparison to Pele’s fire-lipped swallowing of entire islands leaving a blanket of hot ash on a roiling sea where men sacrifice bleeding hearts to the … Continue reading

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Mount

To sire a riptide, the roseblood moon, fully engorged, sank lower and lower, its binding navel grazing the lattice mouth and lacy tease of a sea forever beckoning softly creased light to charge and mount.  

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Set Course

The love I don’t get to live with her, I am going to have to live and attend, sublimely, through fiction, there are only so many lives to choose from, to assume gracefully, so many courses upon which the sun … Continue reading

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Confessions at the End of the Tunnel

   It was the very end of our relationship, when it was past the point of ever being good again.  We both knew it but neither one of us wanted to say it, because that would mean letting go and … Continue reading

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She

She, the wrinkled pool of lusty glaze and somatic charge, of aural bouquets teasing cherry-bled sound and fragrance from whetted lips, fasting to shape a comely beckon, moon-fed by dark.

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Outlet

Kiss my shame, she said, the moistened outlet to my sealed-in history, run your tongue, but gentle now, gentle, over my heart-shaped booboo, make it sing, as if the moon, a secret maestro, was drawing the most beautiful notes from … Continue reading

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Communion

She knows who she is, the one who placed a piece of the moon under my tongue when I wasn’t looking, now, when I speak of night, light follows, to gild my bated communion.

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In Bated Response to Oxygen for A Sort of Love Song

How wonderful it is to have your breath, seized and arrested, to have your barest bloom subjected to the solvency of cherish.

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