somewhere your hands are in dough infused with cinnamon

chocolate shavings and dried cranberries     you knead & roll

this sticky firm mass on a flour-coated board as if forming a fist    

but there is no violence in this process only tenderness

like an infant’s back lifted upward in one motion once satisfied

you tear off pieces with a light squeeze & mold them into balls

placing each one on a buttered baking sheet to rise

i taste what you have made     my bitter-sweet tongue wanting

to become like dough once in your hands crafted into something

worthy of love not what is before me now a plate of chocolate

streaks cranberries & crumbs i leave the dish uncleaned for days

unable to scrub evidence of you & your tender labor

Love: An Education

Gathered with sibling and parents

at the dinner table, I watch

my father’s long, mahogany arm

stretch over to my mother, seated

at his side, and knead her neck

like dough, teaching me a lesson:

sometimes keeping two souls tied

does not require words.



Photo credit: dreaminginthedeepsouth

The Who and the What


–For Jacques Derrida

Each morning we awake

to the death of our fantasies:

She with straight, silky hair

He with abs taut as

djembe drum skin

She with eyes a frosty marine,

He with upper-body

sculpted & defined

She less assertive, more docile;

He more intelligent, less obtuse

someone we can each wake up to

without loathing or regret,

without pity or guilt,

A body baring a dream,

not an authentic being.



Furtivus Anima

Furtivus Anima

A thirst of affection seeks
the unrepentant soul.
Like Helen drawn by Paris’s charm,
the Light pursues an avenue to the heart.

My inmost being is rebellious.
It halts heaven’s advances with barricades
of human will and stone walls of human id,
making no room for the beckoning of glory.

I yearn the Light’s abduction;
for it to lead me to that place
hidden from the searching gaze
of my condition.

May this heart of mine be ransomed
with the blood-price of redemption.
May it be rescued from profane restoration,
keeping me in bondage to the Divine.

Eros 4: Confessions



do not vault yourself from me.

Please, give me a code that unlocks

all your pains, secrets, agonies.

I am a student, so educate me

until I can recite each fact

in your life story.

The stage is yours,

so narrate your inner tragedies.

Stand with me, off-load those honest

memories that left mine-fields in your heart:

What Daddy did and didn’t do;

what Mommy said and didn’t say;

how the first time wasn’t by choice;

how dark urges clouded all sense of purpose.

Share your issues and I’ll share mine.

Let us plant new orchards

in the desert of our past lives.


Eros 2: Valentine’s Day

Valentine’s Day

What use would
valentines do
to aid my feelings
for you?
If crimson hues
paint shades
across the soul
then mine is sky blue
not from melancholy
when I’m apart from you
but from the thought
of our union
lifting us to unbound realms
beyond man’s lofty reach
So teach me how to speak
those words I deeply lock away
Beyond cards, roses, chocolate hearts
just stay, listen, forgive my mistakes
help me grow wings to join you
as our love departs this cage
of human age

Eros 1: I Do Not Fantasize

My first poetry series of 2015! Throughout the month of February I will be posting poems that deal with the theme of love and human affection. Enjoy!

I Do Not Fantasize
I do not fantasize my hands against your buoyant, airy skin. I do not fantasize the copious taste
of your mouth. Nor do I see us lost in consummate embrace, fighting for air as we drown
in our affection. Not yet. Not while a chasm of pride and inhibitions divides me from you.

Not while your graceful ways guide me out to sea where tidal waves of unconscious pains
aim to cast our souls adrift. Not till I have you, and you me, in blessed matrimony; completely,
deeply offering ourselves to Whatever May Come. Only then will your alluring form arrest me,
because you’re not a phantasmic form, but an enamored being that feels, that exists, that be.

Scrapbook Days

Scrapbook Days

When fortune shuts

her twinkling eyes

on all we’ve ever known,

when our universe crashes down

like hung-head guests at final rites,

as chaos usurpues all order and reason,

as swarms of reality consume our

long-sustained illusions,

run to the shelter of my hands,

let your fears melt into my arms,

listen closely as I whisper us back

to scrapbook days

where the only pictures

are of you and I

fleeing the end of times

under sun-lit skies.



My heart keeps floating on

My heart keeps floating on

In storms

high winds

In wrathful waves

My heart keeps floating on.

My heart keeps swimming on

My heart keeps swimming on

my heart will swim

to you

my dear

My heart keeps swimming on.