Dream Annex Within the House of My Heart



: to add (an area or region) to a country, state, etc. : to take control of (a territory or place)

1:  to attach as a quality, consequence, or condition

archaic :  to join together materially :  unite

:  to add to something earlier, larger, or more important
:  to incorporate (a country or other territory) within the domain of a state
:  to obtain or take for oneself

Somehow you became annexed

within the house of my heart.


I spent one evening with you

that ended with us lying in bed,

entwined in each other’s warm arms.


That night I soared

on wings of sleep

through a rambling series of dreams

in which you made me laugh,

entertained me with anecdotes

and did not leave me.


I woke the next morning

to find you had moved in

to my inner world.


Now you are dwelling within me

like a part of myself

and I do not know

if I am dreaming you

or you are dreaming me.

She is Like Honey

thinking of this one today in homage to the cycles of nature

erotica poetica


She is like honey,

oozing sweetness.


A pulsing star

within the vast galaxy of her own body;

ready to fall through the sky,

to dissolve into everything…


Knotted with yearning,

waiting for the warmth of his humanness

to unwind her

from the tangle

of herself.


She spreads her thighs apart

and arches her back,

hips curved up.

Allows her innermost self to be rocked

within the plush cradle of his mouth,

to be caressed by his patient tongue.

To be licked,

so wet.


She is purring now.

Ready to reveal her secrets.

His fingers speak to her first in whispers.

Then more loudly,

build to a crescendo

of sighs,




She breaks like a storm,

full of tears and windy breaths,

emotions that release

from the clouds of her body

like raindrops,

flooding out of her breasts and hips

as she falls slack against him.

View original post 8 more words

The Temple of the Mother

Last night,
purified on the sacrament of tequila,
he came to worship
in the temple of The Mother.

He parted my thighs with reverence,
entered my sacred inner chambers,
his cock direct and firm
with intention, prayer-like.

He buried his face in my bosom
and sucked on my full breasts.
I cradled his head in my hands,
ran sweet fingers through his hair.

Our scents mingled,
moans and whispers sounded,
kisses were deep,
our holy bodies glowed
with the radiant blessing
of unholy ceremony.

Past midnight we emerged
into the darkness of scant moonlight
filled with
a kind of grace.

Blow Me

Life is prose, waiting for the romantic heart to craft it into poetry

erotica poetica


Blow me, mold me, shape me,

into Woman,

poured into the glass of your hands

like rich hot chocolate.

Drink me in.

Eat me for dessert, bring me to your lips,

lick the bowl

of sweetness between my hips.

Cup your hands around my ass,

carefully, delicately,

break me open, hard and wide,

then smooth me

with a caress.

Drape your manhood around the soft curves of my body

for me to hold like a warm blanket

through incandescent winter nights.

I will tell tales in my dreams

for you to finish.

Like glass is formed from grains of sand,

so is a story formed,

from many tiny moments,

all crystallized within the raging heat

of the heart’s workshop.

So blow me, my dear glassblower,

into the shape

of your desire

and I will blow you.

View original post

Our Two Dreams


At one time,

our two dreams fit snugly together

like grooves on a railroad track,

pointing in one singular direction.


Our journey was to a destination that we both envisioned,

one of surprising magic.


We traveled to a little hamlet across state lines,

where teapots were shaped like Aladdin’s lamp

and filled with healing brews,

and wishes were granted

in real time.


We drank medicine of the spirit

from the space between

our souls.


A fox crossed our path,

a star shot out of the sky.

One night I sang a duet of inner music with you

and the harmony of our voices

sweetened sulfurous hot springs water

and black Montana night,

and the milky patina of stars dancing overhead.


It is cliched to say

that I will love for you forever.

But I will.


Yet our trains ran off the track

and almost crashed.

Now we run on separate lines.

Maybe someday we will be reborn trolleys

and meet

in San Francisco.


Until then, I still look for you

in every old beat up blue Toyota Camry station wagon

that passes me by

on the road,

as I make my way

into the unknown

each day

on my own.

Hungry Tigress

In the Land of the Medicine Buddha,
I lay splayed
and comfortably feline
on the smooth wooden shaft of a felled tree,
staring up at your eyes,
the corona of branches
and pale blue sky
that you wore
like a halo.
You gazed down at me
in turn,
your stony face
filled with
unarticulated desire.

The afternoon was golden.

Seductive rhythms of sleep
enveloped us in their siren song
and we rested,
our eyes open still, alert,
feeling the warm caress of the sun,
straining to hear the imaginary bubbling of a dry brook.

My body was alive with the breath of nature.
As i lay there
inhaling your smoky, woodsy scent,
I felt the wild, restive elegance
of a lioness
rise within me,
her untamed feminine power.
I stretched my arms
and unwound the coils
of my spine with royal grace,
pointed my breasts
towards you.

I was the Hungry Tigress
of the Buddhist fable,
ready and waiting
to accept the sacrifice
of your ego,
to devour you
and change you
into something spiritually pure
by the discreet illusion
of my earthly need.

The sky,
peeking its light through the canopy of trees, yawned.
The hot arc
of the sun’s sweep across the day
lit a forest fire
upon the hollow tinder
of our bodies.

Our dreams flared
and like cats we jumped,
undulating and feral
in our movements,
reaching for each other, for the radiant heat of familiar embrace.

And so as faded prayer flags flapped in a quiet breeze
and old knotty Redwoods and Oaks watched,
we melted,
we burned;
we were transformed.