Love-N-Bake

Tapping on windows,
you see the lights on.
A fire roars in the kitchen.
Nose in the air, searching for yeast,
nothing homely, not even grease.
Pressed to the door,
feeling the heat.
Awaiting your arrival.
Not knowing your fast asleep.
Thought you'd make a home.
Thought you'd make a feast.
You're lying with another lover.
I set the match close to your feet.
Through the window I watch...
My love for you bake.

Liquid Tongues & Mahogany Things

You catch my attention like the lit end of a cigarette. The way you etch into the space above me, hovering there. I want to inhale you, keep you close inside of me. The quick pulsing light of your inflamed state is that of your eyes. The flash of a cat-like reflex, you have instincts that might instinct me. You are a powerful glimpse of light, slashing through my sultry night. Make believing everything I see, in the corners of this place. Whispering addiction, you are a craving I just can't kick. Liquid tongues and mahogany things, there is a different sense to you. Like a cigarette, I reach for you - you share the light, suck me in.

HUNTRESS

The huntress locking eyes with the gentleman in the smoking jacket. 
No rifles in this forest of neon lights, boots slick with spilt drinks not mud. 
The dirt on the faces of everyone around is not a product of mother nature. 
The grime of secrets and infidetly worn like bullet links, a weapon appeal. 
The huntress looking like the prey, slinking around with all the right ammunition. 
Capturing moments with her teeth, on the rim of iced glasses. 
The potions are something sultry and pure, knocking out her smoking gentleman. 
There is absolute delight in the clutches of her hundred dollar manicured claw. 
The bait is taken, the man swoons with confidence and cockiness. 
As if  he has the upper hand when clearly she is on top here. 
The huntress loading his lip with the slick of a lipstick tube. 
The huntress tempting her own temptations with the snap of her heals. 
The huntress and the smoking jacket, forgetting the field in the dark of the night. 
The huntress comes alive in the night, with the support of the moonlight.

Take Up the Space Next to Me

The bright crisp hue of the sun on you has me enthralled with the day. There is a swiftness in your breath that puts me to rest while in your lavender embrace. And the way your body takes up the space next to me is quite respectfully appreciated. The way your voice seems like a prayer to me; won't you forgive my lack of clarity, oh the things you do to me. And the way the moonlight casts stars on your slumber puts me at ease and I don't easily sleep through a night in the city but with your warmth right there I am completely knocked out.

Diabolical Plans / Interesting Concepts

Diabolical plans and interesting concepts.
Find me a pen I am bleeding these thoughts out
of my head and I couldn't save myself If I tried, 
for the ink is running way too dry. There is a film that
has adapted to the spaces between my words.
This is where the passion blurs like tears messing up your vision.
Open wide, Sweeteyes, for there is something much
grander here than all these words and sugared lies.
I cannot persist without the tryst for you have made your bed.
Silly folk, with uncommon jokes, slowing down time. 
The decision to stay is casted away with the action of leaving.
All I can do is write about the unconscious decisions and glooming plans.
Not taking a stand because the lack of temptation has me sitting.

Gimmie Grit

What's happened here. 
We're all in a rush. 
Claiming we have somewhere to go. 
I want lightly light knooks with the best scotch. 
Forget the soda, son. I want to feel this one hit. 
Settling into the pit of my being, bring your cigarette box. 
Light me up, don't put me down, let the smoke give us an appearance. 
I want the straight shooter look with the leather taste. 
I want hotel rooms, destroying places. 
I want match book phone numbers and lipstick stains.
What's happened here. 
Everything so polished. 
Forget the disguise. 
We want to see the good time on your clothes. 
Gimmie grit

Certain Kind of Stillness

Wandering in and out of sleep, not because I want to but because I have to.
I must do this to myself to know that I am alive, or what I presume to be alive.
There is a certain kind of stillness in my soul that stirs me in it's minor notions and I can't take it.
The pressure is getting to me - the pressures of myself. I feel like I can't get up.
Not anymore, no more, will I force myself to get up, but then I do. I always do.
There is a stream, a stream within me, like I am a valley and there are depths.
I feel the trickle of my brain matter sludge toward the parts of me that want to 
be exposed to a different shapes and lights and different decibles of sound.
I wander in this sleepless state, floating and dirfting, there is a certainty in moving.
But then there is suddenly no where to go, no where to fall and you are at a stand still.
There is a moment that feels like an eternity, that keeps you there. Standing. Still.

Your Light Fills In

There is a short becoming in the way the light falls on your being.

It catches you, as if you were free falling, towards a pile of life. There life is gathered up real high, and you're about to make your mark. The light, it falls on your features, and captures you there, mid air and beautiful. There is a small quake as you awake and not many will feel it instantly But as you grow the tentacles of this quake will spread to each stranger you meet. They'll adapt, to the light, and see you for who you are. Their life will take on a whole new shape,

 as they sprout from stranger to friends or maybe to foe.There is a light, that will stay with you there, forever in the contours of your face. It will shine through your face, your teeth and your ways filling up all sorts of space.

Cavity Vocabulary

Their is a useless web of all your dishonesties spiraling within your eyes. You shield it with all your insecurities and a pungent social media disguise. Your vocabulary is full of cavities and your waist doubling in size; from hoarding secrets and making problems because you're of the fakest kind. Troubleshoot your problems and try to drop them to the side, fooling no one, I see the webs within your twisted spine. You're a different species; not a mermaid or even angel not an alien just the growing scum that clings to beautiful life sources. Whatever fills you up and won't take you down. Rise and shine you soulless mess there is no reason for you to confess.. For you wear your shit right on your clothes, honey take a shower you're rank.

You're Such a Sponge

there is an acidic rise within my spin 

and i cannot flush you down the sink

leftovers from my plate, a slime trying to 

catch the light - get rid of you from this place.

you're a dud, total flake, getting fatter in 

this place, gulping down everything you hear,

gossip whore from ear to ear. get a clue you

sneaky beast, take your soulless soles to the

next place, ain't got no room for all your stench.

you are nothing but a wench.

Attracted to Butter

A monarch on other flies, attracted to the butter. A good girl in a bad disguise, trying to get much darker. A trust fund with no trust, all the funds been snorted. A couple double dipping in other couples love spots. A fire burning all the keepsakes for there is nothing to keep safe. Swimming in a high glass, scotch without the soda to make you feel more at home. A skinny way of thinking and an obesity for the poison. All sorts of odds and never an end. Never ending beginnings and beginnings always ending.

The Gentlewomen

the gentlewomen with your pill box hat and your pills full of elegance. the gentlewomen fix for a whole suit of gentlemen. your pill philosphy with a cocktail and a dream, pill iQ and pill pad schemes. the pill box purse, with all the trimmings. a pill to wakeup and a pill to sleep. pill with dinner, three with drinks; something to bring you up and something to make you see. the pill that makes your husband to come home, that makes pies sweeter and bird soar high. a pill box queen with a pill infested diary and a pill bottle rattle that clinks with her shadow. a pill box hat for the gentlewomen with the Stepford wife smile and the comatose lifestyle all pretty in lace.

"Disastrous Thinking" on Kobo

I've published a collection of short stories entitled, "Disastrous Thinking" which is now available on Kobo for all of your eReaders, tablets, smartphones, and desktops!

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Bottom Lip

I want to pull my bottom lip over my head and swallow me whole. I want to sink within the hallows of my being. I want to follow that sickly fluttering feeling; like evil butterflies slicing me deeper. I want to just escape. I can't be here but I'll be here. I want to take my bottom lip and pull it over myself. Swallow. Disappear.

Texthonestly

"I like to daydream that our conversations would be long and fiery and wouldn't exactly end but ebb like a tide going out to expose sweet treasures and to rest so it can retain, rush back and capsize on ourselves. I think you and I are people who don't thrive for love but for ourselves. That love is dependent as it is codependent." 

Day Break, Dawn Passion

Passion, seeking it's source in crisp new light. As if pondering eyes closed for the night had visions of such beautiful things. Awakening with the mad dash energy equipped to accomplish. But as the day grows stale, each ticking moment reasonably tying all the loose tentacles of passion together -tidy, severing it's energy. Soon the drive falters. Roads grow simple and easily travelled. Passion no longer speaking softly throughout your being, that soft cooing of wants and needs and got to please... they all roll over in their beds. Awaken in morning light calling loud and to be stifled by the day growing old. Waking up in passion and sleeping like a log.

My Body On a Trip Without You

There is a place in the space between my eyes where I cannot think of you.
 The spaces between my teeth do not allow me to chew on the thoughts containing you. 
There is a place along my jaw line that holds certain beauty that is hidden away from you. 
There is depth within my collar bones that you will never get to explore. 
There is a little flutter within my ribs that you will never understand. 
The curve of my hips will never round into the concave of your body.
 The rise of my breath will never fall to your chest. The length of my legs will never feel the burn of escaping you. 
The soles of my feet will stride in directions away from you. 
My body on a trip without you. 
Carrying inside of it the most important pieces that I shall always keep away from you.

Missed Connection, Connected

There is this image I saw once of a man and women exchanging glances through separate subway car windows while they are both holding the exact same book. It's a cartoon illustration and I could never figure out if they were making eye contact with one another or with each other's covers. This happens to me sometimes. It's never happened with the exact same book, nor on the subway. However, it has happened to me on the bus with different kind of books. I think my body notices the presents of literature first and then my mind gets this hunger like I've got to know exactly what they're reading. Once that happens and I've obtained a glance of the cover, a snippet of the author's name.. Well usually I am then found out that I am staring so hard and the reader makes eye contact with me but I can never truly be sure they are looking at me directly or now interested in what I am reading. Sometimes you come across someone so engrossed in their novel you cannot even make out their face. You see the entire cover of their book and you almost want to know what their expression looks like. You could then feel this connection with them and it would bind you to them and to their story. I fall in love with people's book covers on the bus. It is a quick fleeting love that lasts only minutes. You slip into a trance, dazed and flattered. You are greedy for their attention. You want to know their thoughts and feel the pages and ask questions like if it is bought or borrowed? It never happens that you have a seemingly interesting conversation with any of these readers, usually no conversation at all. Your snapped out of your timely love with a bell and a shuffle as your dearly beloved closes the book, tucks it away, and dashes off into whatever direction - home or party or place they must get too. It happens to me all the time. Maybe you and I once were in love for a brief little encounter, and it was easy just us and book covers and space and little noises blocked out by the voices in our heads reading every little detail on those pages; and that love, our love, was the easiest kind of love. Sometimes I miss these people I don't even know, haven't really met, but I find you there when I go and open that book I saw you with.

(Adrian Tomine that print changed my life)

Like Angels in Electric Chairs

the stars, 
gathering together, 
a silent audience, 
only sparkling at the 
mere sight of you, for 
their thoughts are somewhere, 
somewhere lost in space. 
the rare occurrence of becoming, 
something bigger and larger, 
the life that has been presented to you is just 
the play dough.. 
take your hands and shape it. 
the shape that it will take 
can change and will change. 
the want. 
the need. 
the change, doesn't always agree. 
it sneaks up on you like 
angels in electric chairs. 
it mocks and befriends you. 
the stars they are there. 
you can see them, so 
that must be the proof. 
but there is no proof 
to the illusion of your heart sorrowing miles high to catch the speed of 
something galactic. 
people on earth, looking outward. 
people outward looking in. 
the change. 
the want. 
the need. 
stars and people. 
people wanting to be stars. 
change for the better. 
change for the worst. 
the not so rare occurrence 
of everyone around.

Very Berry Philosophy

Trailblazing all my ideas,  you've waited long enough. 
Claiming some sort of lonely feeling, but you're never far enough. 
Draw all sorts of conclusions, but you claim you're never done. 
Fed up but starving, stop giving me garbage, what has all the recycling done. 
Reusing leftovers from the past, I am not who I once was. 
Reducing me to fragments I have left in other countries, 
came back with a different perspective.. 
you stooped while I was trying to get above. 
You wanted a piece of my environment 
I was hoping you'd just go green and stay away from me. 
You spoiled my organics, persisting on my nature. 
I naturally can't do this anymore, I once was so very fond of you. 
Vegetable crisp, I am reduced to risk, cannot move my limbs to your soul anymore. 
I am cooked, left you devastated and on the hook, 
ready to roast for something much more whole grain than my very berry philosophy.