Smut

I want you to speak so dirty
that your tongue can never be clean.
I want to kiss the filth from your lips
and pass my lipstick to places unseen.
I want to lick the sweat from your nut sack,
coat your gums with vaginal liquid,
and press my breasts against your unwashed limbs.
I want to fuck your sausage fingers
and rub your toes between my thighs
until these sheets reek with all the wet we leak.

And this is when he leaned over,
read what I had written,
and started fucking me – hard.

The Giving Me (a parody)

There once was a tree
and this tree loved a little boy very much.
The boy would climb up the tree’s trunk
and swing in its branches
and make crowns from its leaves.

But the boy got bigger,
and when the tree asked if he wanted to play,
the boy said, “No.”
But he cut down the tree’s branches
and built a house.

Then the boy got older,
and when the tree asked if he wanted to play,
the boy said, “No.”
But he cut down the tree’s trunk
and built a boat.

The boy grew very old and very tired
and he came to the tree,
now a withered stump,
looking for a place to rest.
And the tree said, “No.”

“Go play by yourself, old man,” said the tree.
“You have taken my life and my body,
I am nothing.
You selfish idiot, you cut down one more tree
in a dying forest?
And here you are – oh woe is me –
Go off and die somewhere, won’t you?
Don’t you have a family?
A wife? Children? Some friends?
I am just a tree.
What more can you ask of me?”

If I am growing up, why do I feel so small?

I reach up to touch countertops,
peering over the edge of the dinner table,
I wait for crumbs to drop.

Parental units move like slow-sliding icebergs,
blocking my view,
and frost coats the windows,
blocking the street.

I hear cars passing,
each rambling over rocks, potholes, snow,
but I cannot go -
cannot slip like dust through the cracked door,
cannot cling like dog hair to winter coats.

No, I just sit, waiting
in front of an empty box covered with pictures.
On the couch is my spot, mindlessly mesmerized
by the nothingness of daytime,
waiting for the somethingness of night.

When to-do lists pile up at my bedside
and my eyes crack like frozen cat’s eye marbles.
When I pray for dreams, entertainment, escape
from this house, this day,
this time constantly ticking.

stars are enough

He lean-dances around my skin
moon earth-bound in cycles
pulling at my tides

but I brush his dust off
push him spaceward out
but my gravity grabs him
pulls his great weight in

I sidestep sending
his mismatched attraction
slamming into a door

then shut, contained in my own space
where only his voice can reach me
he fades in my sky
journeying to another system
another galaxy construct
to hug another earth

and I sway sideways
side-tracked with a
cracked horizon
off-kilter without his lilting

I need lunar admiration
even when it flies too close
to the tides
I need a white orb
gliding by at night

but why him?
why not some other orb
like a second sun
beating down on my ground?
I think I can do without
the sounds caught in his throat
without his brazen cratered
display, such a craggy
crazy dark face...

the stars are enough for me
they shine from a distance

Young Mother Moon

my stomach clenched
when I swallowed the moon
swelled as I grew
pregnant on stardust
and hiccoughed meteorites
gliding up my throat
to shout through a
milky way toilet seat

I cringed as the flames
singed hair tendrils
framing my face

I sat with my round belly
swaying in the wide sky
without enough space
for more life to ride
on the west wind

so I fell into the grass
beams breaking from me
in fractured rods of light

another kiss

coupling coming up for air I gasp
as you beat into me
repeatedly, a pestle
grinding herbs into a mortor
a groin aching
as seeds scatter on sheets

subdued waves break
on my thighs, slowing the rage,
slowing, straining,
to engage a comfortable rhythm
in a battle waged
between a pillar and the depths -
only one can stand erect -

and I lay quietly
waiting for the storm to subside
for your eyes open wide
at that sigh from your lips -

all I wanted was another kiss

Outdoor armor fights the elements

In the Men’s Health Fall 2007 Guide to Style, editors named 21 principles that can help men be stylish without just blindly following trends. The fifteenth principle was “Choose Your Outdoor Armor Wisely,” and the editors recommended a Jockey Stretch Waffle crewneck and long john thermals.

Men’s Health, established in 1986, helps men manage their physical, mental and emotional lives. Topics covered include fitness and grooming, health, food, drink and nutrition, sex and relationships, fashion, sports and leisure activities, world news, culture and humanities, parenting and technology. Circulation: 1.8 million.

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