The Portal

Acquiescent, she sits back
on her heels awaiting
deliverance through
the portal of primal lust.

An embryo matured
at the gift of pain,
she is his agent of change.

swish-strike-sting
swish-strike-sting
swish-strike-sting

He etches angel wings
on the canvas of her flesh;
living art -- his animal
becoming more beautiful
with each lash.

swish-strike-sting
swish-strike-sting
swish-strike-sting

Omnipotent in the pride
of creation, the honor
entrusted,
he transmogrifies her
by nature’s dark kiss.

מ וו ף ף

Yes, madam, I am finished. My star has fallen. I work and I try, yet know that all is but a farce
- Benito Mussolini



Fortune often smiles on the
wicked, as it did on Napoleon,
Hitler and Mussolini for a time:
Megalomaniacs whose charisma
attracts and insanity perverts.

Equally, you mock with each
perfidious breath the sacrifice
of people brutalized by evil.
They gather at your feet,
sensitive and gullible,
who fell into your grasp.
You’ve skewered the hooks
into finer beings than you will ever be;
strung the lines and coerced
the marionettes in an elaborate farce.

Waterloo awaits, the bunker burns,
and when your rescuer comes
not even a gunshot will spare you
the retribution of the noose.

We Have Made The World Small

Stories told to our children
about the days before remotes,
microwaves and computers
are recounted to grandchildren
whose disbelief shadows faces
so incapable of awe or wonder,
they are radiant with pity.

If pity is to be our commodity
let us trade it for hope,
that while we were busy
abbreviating the world,
admiring its sophistication
and becoming isolated,
we recall that life exists
outside of our front door.

We surf the net, play tennis on wii
and overlook humanity
with a blink of each occluded eye.
Rather than uniting mankind,
sharing our music and art,
we have forsaken lyre and drum
to finger a deadlier HAARP.
We are maestros of destructive
instruments more resonant
than indifference.

Caramel Sin

The evening was a whirlwind -
we were all frenzied and taut,
bodies shaking and grinding
with none of those wasted moments
of precious and too little time.
Tomorrow would come, but tonight
my longing for you became a desire
to hold you close and press my lips
to your rich black-diamond skin.
I slipped my tongue into your wet
essence, delving into the dark
depths of your liquid delights.
My pulse quickened as your fluids
rushed over my palate
like a Jamaican waterfall
of melted creamy caramel sin.
I swallowed the first crescendo of
satisfaction and reached for you
again and again and again,
until my need was sated
and I switched to decaf.

Limits

The cold arrives, and with it, memories
of another crisp November day,
when we took turns warming icy-fingers,
sage-scented smoke settling over us,
it was only natural for you to wonder
why those shadows filled my eyes.
You joked, said we should be reckless,
and strip down to our secrets.
I thought it was quite risqué.
Then you asked to taste my tears,
but you were on a salt-free diet,
so not to desecrate your body,
that divine temple of chastity.
I unbuttoned my cotton blouse
so that you could see my breasts;
when you asked to touch my heart
I told a dirty joke, and laughed
to cover my surprise at your interest
in something so scarred, so hollow.

As you tried to see inside my skin
I let you touch my private parts.
With an amazing familiarity, or instinct,
your nimble fingers roved over me.
I gasped, as they pulled back the hood
from my budding, rose-tinted charade,
anxious to expose my truth.
While you rubbed, expectations
burgeoned, musky and sweet,
until your finger slipped even deeper.
Suddenly you were inside that space
I never allow anyone to touch.
You boldly probed that intimate nook
where she lives, the forever-fragile
child in her squeaky rocking chair, still
fearful of her Mother leaving her alone.


We never loved like that again:
Every girl has her limits.

Coruscant {For Barbie}

When the morning breaks wide-open and lonely
you fail to notice that dew still glistens
upon the proud limbs of summer’s verdant grass.
The miles separating you from
warm scents and busy sounds seem endless,
too vast for your heart to span.
Words dance across your eyes,
they tease your Sahara-laced lips.
Tears of silvery spheres spill over
into a pool of memorable pleasures
licked from arched fingertips.
And then, out of the mists, on crystallined-wings
of thankfulness, a coruscant day arrives.

Gegenschein

There’s no room for light
at the fringe of these swollen shadows.
The penumbral outpost is already crowded,
overstuffed with fears and damnable regrets;
dark things that belong in black corners,
well-hidden and out of reach.
I have it tightly packed with sorrow,
doubt, and paralyzing insecurities;
pressed between other things too bitter to face
on the tangerine sun-splashed morning,
like loneliness.

My Sky

There is a movement of spirit
when the sky becomes an ocean;
its depths infused with inky hues,
laden with a weight of color
spanning the spectrum of blues.
The air is charged and surges
through all that lies within its path,
currents alternately flow and ebb
in heavens, dark and vast.
Seams split; night’s arms open wide
for lashes from its mysterious master,
to whose will it readily complied.

There is a settling of peace,
sediment from the storm,
where reflection is forever altered
from what had been its norm.
In awareness of minute details,
your diminutive status within
seeps through the memory of man;
An understanding,
pre-dating the oldest Celtic clan.
There is a need to be connected
within a desire to let go;
to surrender to the forces
that balance beyond control.

Without Redemption

There are depths to you I cannot plumb,
Walls within I cannot breach.
My feelings are a vast ocean;
You contain in a thimble.
They're randomly poured out to shower you;
These baptismal waters of purification.
You're born again into the light of my love,
Cleansed of the sins in the past.
Each time you empty the thimble,
I try to tread the breaking waves. They
Erode the frail castles I lovingly built.
I am left without a method of redemption.

The Rain

The rain
reminded me of
your kisses,
liquid and beating down
in the rush of
a thunder-clapped drum solo,
or heated; a flash - and gone
before I could catch my breath.


They rushed over the banks of my mouth,
eroding the sandstone of my heart,
until…I was desert again,
aching for a single drop.

The rain
still reminds me of
your kisses.

I wish it would rain.

Eviscerated

I was a
Fragile receptacle,
Created to
Hold your abundant venom.
This cruel poison,
Methodically
Killing every frugal drop
Of kindness or love.
You skillfully
Administered enough
Antidote to sustain life,
And prolong agony;
Continually breaking down
Previous immunities.
As the last painful
Dose of destruction
Ceased to entertain
You, I was
Eviscerated.