Poems about Seduction

She is salt and flesh -

an oyster melting

in my mouth

----------------

In the bronze factory

of my mind

the girls are dipped 

in liquid strawberry

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I have been trying all day

to bake into the kitchen

your taste

but the aroma

of your touch

calls me back to bed

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Brandy and Sex.

The warmth of her body

makes its way

across the sheets

-------------

I am dragged by the nostrils

into bed with a beautiful woman

-----

Skin unfolds

in a bed with you.

In a car driving away

my mind turns

to other things.

Poems of Self-Destruction: A Collection

The Burden

She cried into her shoe again last night.
Heavy with the moisture of her burden,
I can barely carry the weight of them.

Out into the sun to dry, I suppose.

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Outnumbered

A woman is in battle
with the girl in mirror.
There are many mirrors and
many girls.
She is simply outnumbered.

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Unspoken

A woman came home
and fell apart.
Not again, she thought,
but it was too late to say
as she watched her jaw
tumble across the floor.

--------------------------

Bad shopping trip

her failure to find
clothes that fit
ruins the day.

----------------------------
Threads

She is a long string dangling,
twisting round and round.

I struggle to find a face.

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Origami

I watch
as a young lady
folds herself in half
and then in half again,
hoping
that she'll disappear.

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Speaking of what is not spoken about

She spits up her disgust
until the kitchen
is just full of it.

Without a mop
or a bucket,
we watch over days
as it begins to turn,
wondering who
will be the first
to say something.

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Across the Hallway

The sounds
of sobbing
in a room
so far,
kept awake
my dreams
of still
loving her

----------------------------

She calls,
but the ring just echoes.
A bird mourning in an empty barn.

Poems about the Morning: A Collection

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Every morning it is the same -
I awake to her sleeping
and then leave.

-----------------------------
Waking this day,
I took a hold of time
and slammed it
against the bedframe.
I watched as a chunk
of morning fell from it.

----------------------------
The morning yearns for coffee,
and nudges me awake.

Poetry of Loss and Love: A Collection

Late One Friday Night

She suddenly wished
her bed had come
equipped
with
emergency exits.

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Ballad for a Young Couple

I have become an oboe
blaring and loud.

She complains about the noise,
but this only makes me ignore her more.

Making love to the entire orchestra,
her complaint is made better known.

------------------

Table Talk

Lights flicker in the kitchen
above our sad
whispers.

My only smile muted by
the buzz of
electricity.

------------

Residues

The hardening edge of desire
soaks its feet in milky waters.

Drip by drip the faucet sings a song
about the unbirthing of our romance.

With the valves of our hearts half-open,
we listen for the thud thud that never comes.

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Morse Code

I remember when
we used to
tell each other
I love you
on the tips
of our fingers
in morse code.

In the long
and short
pauses of
our touching,
which my hands
have not forgotten,
I still wake
to those rhythms
now and then.

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Summer Romance in the City

The concrete is warm.

A man is swinging a woman by her feet,
breaking her against a pole.
She sighs calmly
and waits for the fit to end.

Somewhere around the corner,
a small dog dry humps a leg.

--------------------------

More than her

A man walked into his kitchen
and died.

His wife, upon finding his corpse
still smiling, knew

The aroma of coffee he loved
much more than her.

Kitchen Poetry: A Collection

Waiting

There is no coffee this morning.

So I spill onto the floor
and slosh around
uselessly for hours,
hoping someone might slip
and fall

and accidentally embrace me.

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Her Favorite One

The glass panicked
and threw itself over
the counter's edge.

My daughter asked
if we should say a few
words.

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(Untitled)

The pantry is emptying
itself into the kitchen.

I watch as my
stale-bread of hands
crumble to the floor.

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The Church of Breakfast

The bowl limps toward me
in an act of faith.

We stare silently
at grains of wood, but
our prayers are unanswered.

Soggy and rich with contempt,
we reconsider our conversion.