all time spent without him: on book sales and greetings and

wiping the dew from her face, still sultry in September, counting

calories, savoring each segment of her orange, good-byes,

imagining his hands, his mouth, his eyes on her,

swaying to music played as it captures her attention then fades,

building a moment with these words dedicated to him,

his intellect, his passion,

his desire for her as strong as hers for for him,

the way he makes her feel when he looks at her,

touches her,

butterflies attend,

calling customers and heralding  the arrival of books

they will never come to collect,

trees dropping their leaves, the sun falling earlier now

her heart drumming, her anticipation building, and

yes, time elapsing, collapsing,

folding in on itself as it is merely a place-holder,

nothing more



i’ve given in to him

his tragedy, his intensity, his

hungry cut blue eyes on me

his tough body against my softness

because he NEEDS

and nothing about me scares him

and he desires to please

and our souls inhabit the same liminal space,

the same berry-stained twilight

wherin something new and incandescent approaches

i go to him in the day

but it is always night

all that is on the outside –

the light, time and rush of otherness

ceases to exist

as he moves over and into me

as his mouth swallows mine

as his good music drifts

from the kitchen to his bed

where he never sleeps

and his soon-to-be ex-wife’s name has been written

on a label stuck to the wall above my body

by his child

here we inhabit something in-between

that is not his home

but a weigh station

too near her

too far from his babies

but very much with me

as I am soft, open


and intent on on extracting

some of these labels

attending his existence

and filling his emptiness with


and magic

and joy


by virtue of this madness i surrender completely

to the confusion, the swallowed moon,

the arrogance of him, his


i willfully submerge

my darkness rising

as what he craves is

my soft taffy pulled through

this swallowed moon’s light

what he craves is life

what was, what is though wavy,

and will be

what he craves is woman

rather, this woman

gathered of soft-blow-heat-energy

mystery and magic

who is a seeker, a dreamer, a wanderer

set on the horizon as that is

all she has

(save her perfect/beautiful balance of fear and fascination)

this is what i know

mystery manifests more often than fact

statistics are misleading

and/or mislead

arrogance is our collective downfall

storms cleanse,

dreams deliver

we are fragile

and precious

and love:

is everything

tonight i am (8-14-16)

tonight I am


feeling the breath of him

woven by the heat, the night,

the undertow music

wanting a bar cherry and

thinking that all journeys lead to this:

wanting to be sucked under again



today i am



working on my language of letting go

and thinking of him