not such a prude, after all

silent rush of movement

an agreement

only takes two nods

and a batting of lashes

you met me there

and i didn't have to ask

or answer

in the grainy dawn

fingers bruised from the cold,

hushed walk,

at four

in the morning

left your sheets,

warm

blending

double shower head

slippery, slick arms
pull me from behind
whispered, thick words
drown
in my ear

his urgency burns
my skin,
suffocates the air

but all i can think about
is the soap
burning in my eye

and the water, getting cold

waiting

the problem lay
in the lack of trees

it’s airless here,

no ebullient fireflies

only stale words-

wasted vagaries

the fuck is the point

in a blistering breeze?

no dry limbs to caress

no broken bones, skinned knees

 

so still, it sits

con-tem-pla-ting
longing for movement
from you?
or me?

pale bruised light in the sky
aujourd' hui


This life is so short. Yet, still, we wait.

au +‎ jour +‎ de +‎ hui; since hui comes from Latin hodie, the phrase literally means "on the day of this day".

sick day

Little dude has strep throat, so he spent the day in bed with movies and Gatorade. I spent the day on my couch pretending to grade papers and do lesson plans. I am extremely lazy.

That is all.

it's okay, this time (and the next, and the next)

long sleeves and dark glasses


insistent drops

pregnant splashes

on the windshield

she’ll sit here all night

green glow from the dash

bathing her

desolate voices from the radio

butter on the bruises

like ice, but warmer

the keys don’t really matter
maybe some other time,
some other night

(what if she stays?)

being right