Sunlight Sedation

It is the way
you kissed my palms
like they had been holding
all of your oxygen
for the last two months;
pulling up the hem of my T-shirt
and reminding my stomach
with your mouth
how worthy it is
of worship,
of mercy.

You will never be
a new religion to me:
but rather a louder way to love.
You will be my reminder
of daily grace.

Because as your lips met my skin,
my eyes were wrinkling themselves
into two old maids
laughing in rockers
on the front porch of
their country house in the summer.
Two windows
squinted like they were staring
at the sun.,
not caring if they were blinded
in happiness.

Like love never left;
like the splinters of hurt and
regret remained in my heart
only so
when the time was right,
I could re-make them into a door jam.

It’s like saying your name,
missing how much
my lips
pursed at the “shh”,
and now, not wanting
to be quiet
about this.


Window Displays

Let’s pretend we’re lovers.
I want to be running through the moonlight with both yours hand around one of my mine,
speed of light crashing into the diner,
but nobody looks up when the door chimes.

I want to move to the booth in the corner,
where our fingers entwine over the table
and our legs tangle beneath.
I want to hide behind a menu like Sandy and Danny,
but I know I’m the one secret you can’t keep.

So when we sip our milkshakes from separate straws,
you’ll move yours close to mine.
You’ll watch the way my lips move in steady rhythm,
and we’ll lose track of time.

And when we leave that diner,
we’ll say it was our first date.
We’ll walk slow to your car,
your coat on my shoulders,
and I’ll tell you I want to stay.

Let’s slip into your backseat
like kids who know better,
but crave touch just the same.
I never thought this would be the way
I’d kiss you, love,
but I swear you can hear my heart race.

Let’s pretend we’re lovers, babe.
Even if it’s for a day,
I want to dress up, act real cute,
hold hands while we cross the street
and have you smile at me,
come on,
let’s play.


Break over my body
like sunset;
I feel your teal
melting my yellow
and I am pushing down
morning star
while pulling
your hands across my horizon.

Meet my molten mouth
with your lunar lips
until I am seeing stars behind my eyes.
You have the universe in the palm of your hands
and you paint it over me in galaxies.

The only Milky Way
I’m swimming through
is between the river-like flow
of our two bodies
as my hips circle like Saturn’s rings
and you rove over my plains
like the freckles on my stomach
are the once existing stream
found on Mars.

I crave for you to make
me North Star:
highest point of reference
but instead I puddle into Northern Lights,
leading other lovers
toward celestial bodies
they will one day call

You and I
are the love child
day and night


I don’t think we talk
about touch enough.
I think we over-promote lust
too much———
too much like a bad thing.

This, talking about bedroom fantasies
caused by looks
shared across a room,
something that in that moment
feels like a colosseum
and suddenly,
you are ready to be eaten by a lion
because something inside

This is

This, the moment
where blood rushes
to cheeks,
and necks,
and ears
and yep,
But it’s okay
because there’s something magical
in the fact
that another
human being
can make
you feel this way.

lover swimming
through crowd
just to kiss
the knuckles on your hand.
This, batting eyes
behind a fan.
This, watching as pheromones
paint the air with color
disguising chemical
until pressure hits you
and you are suddenly

This —-
and dopamine’s symphony.
This, the moment
that lovers dream about.
This, the moment
where the catalyst of a look
will meet wave 
of emotion
and it’s either
or spark.

craving to be wrapped around
their body when the
sun comes up,
this is your face
nuzzled against their neck
and them tracing
the length of
until oxygen is something
you can’t get enough

might be
And that’s okay.

Because when the lines
of your palms meet,
I want you to 
tell me of the streets
you’ll travel,
the moments
of your interlocked
as you twirl around
drunk in love
on the dancefloor;
tell me how it feels 
to brush your thumb
along the back of your
lover’s hand
and the way your pulse trips
over itself
every time 
they reach out
just to connect with you again.

Tell me that it’s wrong;
that “at first sight” is only part of it,
Spit in their face
when they tell you physicality 
should have nothing
to do with it,

because a pretty face
and an amazing personality
will mean nothing
if their touch
doesn’t make you ripple
with electricity.

the feeling of 
grazing skin,
the new translation
of you and
lover’s language,
revealing your intent,
understanding of
“I love you”
that is unsaid,

is touch.

Body Party

“I know you hear my body calling you…”

So put down the phone;
Prowl across the mattress,
push the tendrils of chocolate off my
face & tease.

Gently at first,
mouth to mouth, but lips aren’t
touching & I don’t know
if you’re breathing me
in or stealing my breath.
You smile wickedly, nonetheless.

And as my chest is rising,
I’m pushing your hands down
reluctantly & you are biting &
whispering all the things you could
do to me.

My heart has fallen past my
All chords you are plucking are
below the belt.
And you are no longer merely caressing.

When you squeeze
you are memorizing flesh;
you are letting my sighs,
my moans,
cloy your memory.
You are relishing this power
over me.
Only you can tune me to the
right key.

And suddenly your lips
ignite every note & my body
fills with wind & I am an
Blood rushing,
throughout & I don’t know if
I am saying your name
or confusing you for God.

Hallelujah. Hallelujah.

Pumps &
breath falling
all over me;

“My body’s calling you.”

Things I Want (You) to Say (to Me)

She’s on it
she’s never on me and that’s
exactly where I’d like her to be.
And I want to strum her body
like guitar strings,
because sometimes she is taut,
but the taste of her is never off-key,
and I wonder what it feels like to drown
out at sea because she pulls me under,
a symptom of her being in control.
I am always under,
her legs on either side of me
and sometimes I find myself searching her body,
the hills and the sloping valleys,
and I want to carve my image across her skin just so
she won’t forget it.
I feel myself crumbling with the absence of her,
like rockslide.
I feel myself like echo off a mountain range when her tongue
reaches its peak, when she speaks my name
and I come rushing down the side
to cause tangles in her hair
that my fingers have willingly knotted
themselves into, spider web
of decadence,
gorgeous girl,
let me speak of your essence,
let me bow in reverence.
Holy temple,
she lets my tongue slide in
and she is tasting sin
and I am tasting forgiveness
and suddenly
I feel the light of saints
and she’s taking all my stains and I
need her to know
I will sacrifice myself over and over again on her altar,
I will let her smear my blood
across each doorway just so
death won’t come knocking and I
fear she will never truly know
what it is to be loved
without being fixed;
she will never see the beauty
in her brokenness and sometimes
I find that I just want to run with this.
I picture her in forest,
after fire,
smearing her tiny feet because they have cleared out,
everything that couldn’t be felled.
Don’t let her look for me,
because the minute they lit the tinder,
I jumped up like embers,
and I found myself falling back to her fire,
not warming,
but consuming me alive.
I have never
in my entire life
craved for licks more.
I want to draw her
and then myself against her,
and we will be making Mona Lisa blush.
We will make the statues
gasp at their nakedness.
We will cause redness to their marble flesh.
I want to write songs and
and verse for her.
I want to hear my scripture
fall likes cascades from her mouth
just so each word can sink into my skin
like her nails
when she claws her name into my back
when I claw mine into her hips.
I want her to never forget this:
that I will always hold on
and I will push through
and I will never make a promise
that I cannot keep,
especially one involving eight letters,
that mixed around pronounce her name as:

Sweet Ache

I find it ironic
that after all the
what I still yearn for
is that sweet

The way two bodies
surrender to the symphony
of carnality;
two bows
taut with lust
before bending to
fleshy melody.

I guess I equate love
with physicality.
And I guess I equate pain
with being left
and lonely.

So I’ll let them touch me,
if only to not
think about