the type of man sex came to possess

~for MG

I thought of sex
when I first met you —
deep strides, dapper dress,
piercing eyes —
it all resonated, a chill shiver
down the depth of me &
warmth spreading deeper
with my crimson thoughts
because you are the type of man
sex came to possess,
own — carry
into closed rooms, silk beds.

The glass of wine
sparkling amber, glass bubbles
move in the glass,
the world rattles on around us
while your words fall
on the table between us
and then,
I am stunned
by the words, their rich
deep colors, meanings
moving into an acid-like Trip
in my brain. Stunned!

You have amazed me!
My words turn
around, crawl back down
into the velvet parts of me

as I realize
what you don’t –
I am too naive for this
conversation. Too distracted
with the thought of undressing
you to understand beyond lust.

Why do your words
keep spilling down, around, rolling
across the table, tumbling
to the floor
to lay like marbles
on the gleaming wood?

~April 2012 


Giovanni Ambrogio Figino - Metal Plate with Peaches and Vine Leaves

Giovanni Ambrogio Figino - Metal Plate with Peaches and Vine Leaves Courtesy of Wikipedia

A peach shirt,
not really your color,
hung and waiting
on cold metal wire.

I called, to be sure
you wouldn’t mind
the borrowing
before I slipped
and slithered my body
into the color. Peach
warm, Peach soft weave
covering my skin.

I remembered the color,
its connotation
with Georgia – the South,
my so far-away home
where peach meant
sweet-juice-filled fruit,
ripe for picking.

A few hours later,
you peel the peach shirt
away from my limbs,
biting into the warm-deep flesh
of Southern hot-brown skin.

~ January 2012