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.