Petaled fascinations

His hands are rough. This might have been from carrying the weight of the world for so long or gripping at the ropes too tightly.

And yet, he is gentle in the way he smooths over the expanse of my arms. He calms my rage that have formed into fists, and he waits until he finds the opportunity to pry them open, the way a rose blooms, and he sinks his flesh into the thorns in between the spaces of my fingers.

He kisses my scars and heals them until they are merely purple blossoms like petaled fascinations.


Moonlight glow

Most men lay me down gently,
my head on pillows, kisses soft
and tender. You put bruises on
my knees as we crashed to the
floor, a tangle of messy sheets,
hardwood and moonlight glow.
Most men fuck me like they’re
afraid to break me, but you
fuck me like you’re trying to.

*For #sizzlingsummersins, hosted by the fiercely, feisty, passionate, crazy and lovable Daughters of Nin:

Take a chance

And I wonder if you ever
look back and think about
how we came so close to
being so right, and how
when you never take the
chance, you’ll never get
what you want.

Believe me, I’ve tried
to move on, putting down
the phone and turning off
my computer. I don’t want
the reminder that you’ve
settled down, while I’ve
settled for less.

*For #juneinspiration hosted by the lovely @alura_inspires and I

Here comes the sun

It has been twelve hours since
my caution melted and I moved
from curling my fingers around
your hand to tracing your features.
Unzip the subtle freckled lines on
my flesh. I swear my heartbeat is
not as cold as my fingertips. You
can wrap your arms around my
winter bones. Let me feel your
hot breath against the notch on
my spine. I will arch my back and
you will smile and whisper how I
taste like summer. And I’ll laugh
as I tell you how you’ve burned me
like the sun. If sin was what we
conquered here, then I swear,
no hell had ever burned so sweet.

*For #sizzlingsummersins hosted by the fiercely, feisty, passionate, crazy and lovable Daughters of Nin:


You’d be surprised how often the
synapses in my brain connect in
arching, looping patterns, how
often I start poems with the
intent of writing for to you.

I think you imagine my heartbeat
relentlessly preoccupied with
the movings of the world and not
about the way my fingertips and
your skin melt together. My lips
and hips don’t travel to the same
places my words do. But if you take
time to read me, you will realize
every love letter is for you.

*For © Our Poetry Journey Contest


The kisses you gave me were
promises you didn’t mean.
There I was, like a Thespian,
pretending your kisses can
give me wings, but truly they
were a metal case, clamping
over my heart and lungs. Teach
me how to breathe through my
skin. I don’t ever want to
use my lips again.

*Thespian – For © Our Poetry Journey Contest


I want you to plunge into the messy chaos
of my sheets, buried in your own breath,
clawing your way out with my name on
your lips. I want to burn in the oppressive
heat of your body, your fingers knotted into
my hair like I am knotted around your waist.
I want you unzipped in front of me, peeling
away every layer of every other girl you’ve
ever been with, until only my fingerprints
litter your skin. I want you unraveling at
the edges and melting into my palms.

For #juneinspiration hosted by the lovely @alura_inspires and I.

For #sizzlingsummersins, hosted by the fiercely, feisty, passionate, crazy and lovable Daughters of Nin:

Healing the ache

It has taken me this long to realize
that my body has a hard enough time
healing itself without me breaking it
to completion. Yet my instinct is still
to throw my stupid heart under moving
trains, never satisfied to let leaving
things go without tearing me apart.

I have made a sport out of confusing the chronology of discovering you, forgiving you, anticipating you, and forgetting you. I have to accept the fact that it’s over, and it’s time to stop dragging your shadow like a carcass around my shoulders, thinking you’re still with me, when you’re just a living memory. Still attached, umbilical.

*For #mayfalls18 hosted by @breath_words_ and @a_sea_of_words_

A love affair with words

Writing has always been
a clandestine affair for me.
Today, I showed him everything
I’ve kept sacred in my heart.
I’m glad he was pleased.
I know this because he laid me down
and pressed his critique into my
skin, and returned my words to me
by mouth, and kissed the tips of my
fingers in gratitude, thanking me
for finding one more way to love him.

*I rarely show my writing to anyone in real life that I know, I don’t want them asking too many questions about that which I am not prepared to share.

For #juneinspiration hosted by the lovely @alura_inspires and I.

Walking with wolves

You are whichever wolf you feed.
Because sadness was a glutton,
her love and her kindness,
her gratitude and her hope,
they’re all starving, all withered.
She has paid enough tribute to sadness.
So she holds up her hands to the wolf
that would be joy, if she let it, and
offered what’s left of her heart.
As sadness silently salivates,
she walks with head held high,
determined to break ground.
for she is walking with wolves.

*Her hands
For #bymewombchallenge hosted by @bymewomb

*Break ground
For #juneinspiration hosted by the lovely @alura_inspires and I