I Wish


I wish
I had not walked away this evening,
feeling the pulse of indifference
between us.

I wish I had stayed,
and watched you open to me
like morning glories open
in bright morning sun.

I wish
you were pulling me closer
against your hard body,
like you do sometimes in sleep.

I wish
your love
was not so rare.

I wish…


Your eyes glow
in the burning embers
of my raging heart.

I am scorched
from love’s flames,
my body branded
with the smoldering passion
of your touch.

The scent of your skin
on mine still,
like incense smoke.

Dangerous and untamed,
I am a wildfire
burning for you.



“Do I dare put the dream market on display?” — Anne Sexton


Please do not steal

my gilded words, carefully crafted,

from the tip of my heart’s pen, stained as it is

with the ink of my blood.


Please do not rip

my precious fluttering heart

out from the velvety folds of my delicately embroidered hope chest,

so innocently beating.



do not dim

my small spark of radiant life,

vibrantly aglow,

effusive with love and agony,

my intrepid inner lantern

lighting me

along the path

of my soul.




Pursuit of Poetry


Always a lonely hunter of the heart,

I stalked your movements across the wilderness of my inner visions,

contemplated your various images like Rorschach blots

as they were painted in my dreams,

your petulant moods, your hard walls and ragged edges,

your painful betrayals, your ambiguous returns,

your stolen kisses

taken like a thief in the night.


When I saw you,

your brooding eyes spelled me to you

like sorcerer’s stones.

Your carefully cast glances entered the soft, yearning places on my body

with invisible hooks,

luring me to crave

your warm touch,

the familiar feel

of your rough hands

on my skin.


Inside my void, I rearranged things

with the insight of my secret wisdom.

I watched

as you fell through an inevitable crack

in the liminal space,

dove into the pool

of desire.


“God brought us together in this place” you said philosophically

after grabbing me

and pulling me to you at the bar.

But I only believe

in a personal god

and the artistry

of this living dream,

so when I found myself later that night

lying sweetly in your arms like a bear cub

in a cozy cave,

I knew I had crafted that moment with the clay of my will,

had penned it with my own divine hands,

as that is what I am willing to do

in pursuit of poetry.