Category: Poetry

I stayed up
drunk on wine
and the smell
of your sweat.

The pull
of our bodies
fresh and strong,

I breathed
long and hard,
wondering
about wandering.

And you slept
Sweet like an angel
or not so sweet.

I don’t know.

I’m craving
my own
raw wildness

dirty feet
knotted hair

forest breath
authenticity

something deep
something oceanic

the waves
the waves
the waves
of my rhythms

I’m not feeling
polished
or pure.

I’m writhing
with the stories
of all the women
burned at the stake
burned in the heart
held down
beyond dreams and hope

Breaking free now
wailing and dancing
in moonlight

Legs spreading
welcoming love
true love
from true lovers

Men strong enough
to stay.

I’m craving this.

Write me a poem
about how your lips
met mine before
you saw my eyes.

Tell me who you are.
I know you.
I don’t know you.

Write to me,
Poet.
Tell me all the thoughts
that swirl
that whorl
that unfurl.

Tell me
your deepest
darkest
secrets.

Tell me
All.

Can I have your heart
your mind
your smile
with your body.

Can I have it all
with your soul.

Tell me
your contradictions
your shame
your blame
your guilt.

Tell me.

Let’s burn it
on the fire
of our sacral centers,

Consecrated
to the gods and goddesses
of damp earth
salty air
mossy ground

with mud on my feet
and tangles in my hair
pull me close
and tell me something
anything
everything.

Let me crack you open
with the wild beat
of my heart.
Let me drink
the nectar of your
many lives,
dripping from my teeth
on your neck

Hold me
hold me
hold me

close
tight

I want to feel
your hunger
and your sweetness
at once.

Tell me
Everything

with your mouth
your body
your breath
your heart
your sparkling eyes.

I see eons there.
I will devour them.

And flowers
will burst
from all my cracks.

Sometimes
at night
I feel like
I tune myself
to a different dial.

Like a late night DJ

Playing my own heart
for you.

And sometimes
you hear
your heart there, too.

and we dance.

I don’t know why
I keep coming
to you
for something
you never gave me.

Old habits,
I guess.
Maybe I thought
there was something
there.

I know better now.

I’m still a bit
of a shadow.
I forget
sometimes
late on summer
nights.

There is something
there.

Just not enough.