A Bold Move She’s made her web across my window, as if she knew looking out and looking in would make her world seem bigger. It was a bold move, I think, to build out in the open. Her striped legs dance across dew-sprinkled strands, her body growing larger as the heat of summer slips…
Before you slowly slide your hand over my sleeping hip, I am dreaming of your face between my thighs, the heat of your mouth on my sex. But after you touch me, I breathe in deeply, moaning myself slightly awake beneath your weight as you roll me onto my back and spread my legs. You…
This week’s Wicked Wednesday prompt is “playful,” so I decided to try a bit of poetry. I’m rusty, to say the least. But here’s a bit of “playing with words.” Like You What if I (stopped/started) kissing you right beneath your earlobe, in that shadowy place where you forget to shave sometimes? Would you be…
She hadn’t blossomed in some time, but her leaves were green and supple still, strong from years of withstanding the weather. And there was hope. Spring was coming. Inside, she felt the stir, and wondered if maybe this would be her year.
I like to keep the things I write so I can go back and consider who I was when I wrote them…at a distance…like an anthropologist. It is easier to investigate my faults from space rather than in the midst of committing them. Today, I went back and read the four poems I wrote this…
I follow your words across the page,jumping greedily ahead,losing my place in the rush to know the ending,and going back, guiltily,to read what I’ve skipped in haste. Phrases painstakingly craftedto elicit a particular emotion –such a quiet, unassuming figure…who would guess you hold suchpower over others? Ideas. Stories. Questions.Complaints and fierce wonderings —This is how…