Dark Pleasure

A dark pleasure.

You were the one

to lead me

into this shadow dream.

You beckoned me

with your penetrating stare,

your high cheekboned haughtiness,

your eyes impassive and stony,

your cheeky necklace of carved bones.

You tantalized me

with omens and portents,

with aggressive kisses,

pretty words full of poison,

seductive lures.

Until I surrendered

eagerly

to your naked depravity.

You hijacked my body

like a thug,

breaking and entering,

violently taking over,

until all I wanted

was you.

Then you were an inside job.

You were inside me

and I needed you

to stay

with me.

I sought primal wholeness

in you,

like a snake eats its tail.

Like a shaman eats

the vine of the dead,

seeking completion

at the edge of the abyss.

La petite mort.

You annihilate me,

my lover,

yet still

I soar.

In Love With Language, For Wuji

  

He was a man

who was bursting

with effusive poems,

a boundless outpouring

of ornate articulation.


He fell in love

with a poetess,

a skilled doyenne 

of his cherished art.


His garrulous lines

sparked with passion

for her careful starkness

of expression.

His pointed declarations

yearned for the soft edges

of her sinuous metaphors.

His pen,

engorged with ink,

burned

to mark

her page.


All poets 

are essentially 

in love 

with language.


Our poetry

is birthed

from the ecstatic romance

of our lovemaking

with words.

Beauty Walks

2015/01/img_13951.jpg
Maybe you
were the first groove laid down.
The template.

The exposition
that became a story
in itself.

Maybe this
is the one
that was meant to be told
all along.

Our bed is a boat
on the Sea of Cortez.
The bay is silent, dark with moonlight
and the howls of dogs,
entranced by the romance
of a coyote.
I replay
within the old tape deck of my heart
Frida’s longing for Diego.

Nighttime turns and tosses
to the pulse
of Earth’s blood;
the sea.
Her tide is overflowing
into salt beds,
veins of white upon the land.

I float
in your strong arms,
safe and secure,
luxuriating in scents of pipe smoke
and sheepskin,
deliriously content.

Beauty walks
beneath my eyelids,
master works of ethereal colors frescoed
in sacred brush strokes
upon the cave walls
of my dreaming mind.

Being with you
feels just like coming home
to a place
I never was before.

Treat

20141031-111822.jpg
You started me off
with the whip,
just tickling me
with the leather strands,
teasing;
the licks felt like feathers,
like whispers.

Then you drizzled almond oil
down my backside,
warm and viscous,
honey oozing over a peach;
dew seeped from the delicate blossoms
inside of me
and I craved
your sting,
your hardness.

So you gave me my treat.
You parted my flesh,
cleaved me
again and again,
taking me apart
until you touched the deepest part of me,
where past and present merge in a crescendo
of pleasure,
hallowing and restoring me,
and I took the guise
of the goddess
you have made me:
Pua Nani.

Dancing

20141004-165720.jpg
Dancing at the edge of my mind
still the thought
of how exquisite it was
to make love to you
is present within me.
Waking or sleeping,
even as I struggle,
I return
to caress
those moments
that are archived within my body’s awareness,
the way I used to caress your face,
so lovingly.
It was not madness,
no,
nor is it now.
Just the thrill
of being human.