On the last day

You're the moment i decided 

To become something better. 

Towels should always be warm

1; I like him. 

2; he's mostly easy. 

3; there might be something wrong with me. 

Winter is here

I went to bed feeling beautiful,

Knowing it was ended. 

I want you

To want me the way

My stomach drops in 

Inches fluttering,

Recalling your quasi-affectionate 

Hand absent from my knee,

Or the salt bitter scent of

Your cum on my cheek;

With the familiar burn of foolish tears

Of self-loathing, blinked back 

Into the streetlights home;

Craving your disaffected touch, 

The distance tangible, and the way I 

Imagine a professional stranger carries out his craft, a job well done;

Always regretting the solitary goodbye at your door, you lay contentedly warm as I let myself out. 

I want you to want me. 

In a bath with the window open

I wasn't going to

keep your texts,

but I did. 

Who needed that

record of evidence,

I thought. 

But I did. 

I wasn't going to

get attached to those

words,

But I did. 

I wasn't going to 

like you, 

but, anyway, I did. 

Nor was I going to 

think of you often,

too often,
recounting, and recalling,

and I wasn't going to 

sometimes 

gasp aloud

upon that recollection,

but I did. 

I most certainly did. 

I self-promised I would 

not miss you,

but I did. 

I tried not to

like you, too much,

but I did. 

And I really wasn't 

going to, 

but I have. 

Sheath

Comparing the size

of our hands,

fingers and fronts aligned,

printed and palmed,

nervous and calmed,

convexes filling hollows,

concaves where fallow;

my chilly tips

pressed 'gainst your

warm mitts,

the roughened edges 

only just familiar.  

Where the 

Ends extend,

bend;

mismatched pairs

wrap and fold,

Properly. 

Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday.

Carlos,

who once gave me his

number, scrawled nervously 

on a yellow sticky note,

brown and blushing

beside his large white coach,

places his hand over his white

uniformed breast pocket,

and tells me I get 

prettier and prettier,
and prettier and prettier,

everyday,

and his heart cannot bear it. 

He emplores

me to call him

mi amor,

our passing daily Spanish lesson,

and uninvitedly caresses my finger tips,

during this brief morning boarding

he praises my

shedded winter wardrobe,

and calls me a fabulous 

young multi-lingual lady,

just the kind he needs. 

Oh, Carlos,

rotund and moderately melanin-packed,

I do hope

you will find someone

who will call you 

amor. 

Sitting in the sun

I want you

so badly

I never want 

to see you again. 

At the very end, I'd do it all again

Tonight

out walking

the too-early summer

pressing on my cheeks,

he walks by,

wrapped bundle hoisted

in bared arms;

the assumed 

shh-shh-shh

bounce-bounce-bounce

whispered in time to

my heart's reply:

I remember this. 

S.E.

He sat across

the high table,

and callously

told me of 

her abortions,

and her rapes. 

How can you

trust a man

who has so 

little regard

for the tragedy

of women. 

You would have brought me dandelions

A long time ago,

when things were fresher

and brighter,

you would have brought me

dandelion greens,

hacked from our yard

as you toiled too dirty and 

unkempt, for the work

showed,

and they would have been 

bitter and gritty

with the impending loss. 

Automatic

I texted you,

and even though you 

replied in quick succession,

and told me you

loved me,

I cried,

because it was not

what I wanted to hear. 

modern metric

Swipe and glance

for the uncounted

time today,

no red alerts;

no one loves me. 

1.

No reminders left upon my body,

No remnants of your hardness striking mine;

There is no black and blue, but I carry 

Clarity of memory till next time. 

Your manly mitts did tenderize the pale

Of my wincing breast with  no tell-tale trace;

And gone is the remainder of your force

That slapped insolent laughter from my face. 

Unmarked, unseen, like a slate wiped clean,

Relightened, no evidence of your brand:

No pleasure derived from the fleeting sign

Of warm bum by unlasting redd'ning-hand. 

  When we are once again so in bed fresh,

  I will welcome your mark upon my flesh. 

2.

Never again will I utter the word

Nice, while enprisioned in your manly bed;

I will not praise your kindness so absurb

While you generously pin down my head. 

I will not sing pleasantries of pure joy

Listing your commendable qualities

As you courteously make me your toy,

To abuse masterfully as you please. 

Benevolent ruler, my thoughts be stark: 

Gentle domination to go unraved,

Reassuring restraint without remark,

Piercing sodomy free of accolade. 

  Know this now, accept it free, take my heed:

  Cruelty would be withholding what we need. 

le dormir juste

I would like to

live in your inches

from the ankles up,

tracing small circles

along the flesh of your 

hard work,

delving into my

thesaurus of touch,

editing your skin

with my fingertips,

inscribing

a novella on the

heartland of your back, 

composing an honest

lullaby of affection,

rewriting the 

knots of your day,

into the prone prose

of dayslumber. 

Lowell maples

Tonight

on the way home,

the browned amber

streetlights 

traced the shape of summer

on the sidewalk. 

I was surprised 

we'd come this far.