I. drinking red wine out on a black canvas wrapped balcony, i watch as she slyly smiles at me in the cool summer darkness. the corners of her mouth so tender. silently folding into themselves. then rising soft from the rifts like steam whistling out of a steel tea kettle. our laughter a magnet… Continue reading -how we returned to this earth as winged creatures.
it was in the dark stairwell of an old apartment building where i drunkenly sang myself blue for a beautiful woman whose naked lips tasted of fresh marlboro reds and pressed pomegranate oil when i woke this morning the smell of her supple skin lingered faintly still on my pillow and on my red-purple stained… Continue reading Pomegranate.
A poem about being ready to bloom.