the moonlight caressed her cheeks
as she took a long drag from that cigarette
between those
long, thin fingers.

cotton *******,
***** socks,
skinned knees.

shimming along with the rich sounds
of guitar and French tongue.
soft coffee bean coloured waves in her hair
bounced along with the rest of her body.

warm vanilla perfume,
dabbed behind her ears.
i wanted to be behind her ears.
i wanted my lips pressed up against there.

i wanted to line her shelf-like collarbones
with strawberries
from my teeth.

i did not just long to taste her,
i wanted to savor her.

she's the kind of woman with the scent
you'd remember forever.

you could write an entire novel about
the slight curvature of her spine,
and the way it would mold into the
pit of your stomach perfectly.

she's a 'once in a blue moon'
but with the warmth of the august sun.

Your blue eyes drenched me.

Who am I in the eyes of the sea?
Who am I in the eyes of God? In the Devil?

Pour me another drink

I only know myself after a bottle of whiskey and a few of those blue pills the ***** blonde sold to me for a few bucks and *****.

I have been tip toeing around my entire life.

I have succumbed to this dismantling fear. It made my bones shake, my voice break.
Or was it the other way around?

I need a head full of psychedelics and a tongue full of poison but all I've got is this milk and honey.

Maybe if I take that photograph out of my worn out, leather wallet, and set it on fire, I will be okay.

Destroy the past.
Destroy the evidence of emotions.
Destroy that old town I've left behind.

I am no where to be found.
I try to seek out myself in every girl I meet. In every drug I eat.

My body is here but where is my mind?  

I've left it with you. Stuck on you. Darling, you can keep it.

Collapse on the bar, laugh it off, ask for another drink.

sometimes when i
trace your veins,
i can feel
waves of the ocean
beneath your skin,
where you used to shoot up dope,
while biting your brown leather belt.

that brown leather belt has hit
my skin.
so have your teeth.

i like it.

you do, too.

you said you'd rather talk about the weather
than feelings

i like to compromise
so here goes nothing:

"red skies in the morning,
sailors take warning."

little do they know the deep red
and touch of pink
is actually just the blush
in my cheeks
that you put there with
two kisses
early today

"90 percent chance of rain and sunshine."

my mother's mother
used to blame sun-showers on satan.
"he's beating his wife again,"
the old woman would croak.

i now roll my eyes
as i think back to that remark
made on the back porch
on a hot, rainy
florida summer's day.

call it ironic
to hear thunder rumble
and feel fat drops of rain
hit you in between your brow
on a day with no grey cloud in sight
call it whatever you want.

i silently rejoice with the earth's sky
for crying along with me,
all while smiling.

sometimes a boy is the sunshine
and i am so full of love
that i burst with my own
raindrops
i call 'happy tears.'


"hurricane leila"

my eyes are damp
and probably smudged
with black kohl eye-liner
but they are bright.

my eyes are calm,
the conditions surrounding
are wild.

they say the eye
of the hurricane
is the calmest point of a storm.

when it feels like
all else is going to shambles,
when gusts of wind pick up fast,
and rain is falling harder by the second,
just look into my eyes,
darling.

you are safe here.

i'm not religious,
not even in the slightest way,
but when i look into your eyes
i see heaven.
and the streets are
paved with gold,
just as the flecks around your iris
in the light.
i taste redemption on your tongue.
i drink it up.
if there is no heaven,
there's no hell.
but i have been there and back,
for this, i am sure of.
the heat rose from the tip of my toes
to the scalp of my head.
i have seen demons.
i have seen the dark.
no light. no salvation.
but i'd pray,
if i prayed,
for a second chance with heaven.
sew on the pair of angel wings
back into my shoulders.
open the gates.
i have been on my knees for you
and don't think i won't do it again.

school girl skirt
doorman
taste of corona in a coffee mug
sitting by the east river
red wine
kisses
drunk kissing
laughing
the beatles
dancing
harsh sunlight
wooden floor
no food in the fridge
only two coffee mugs
and a few beers.

My stomach is a lake of red wine and pills that are supposed to make me feel better about my life.

They didn't.

My hands vibrate and clench themselves into fists that are sometimes full of my own hair.

My eyes are heavy and decorated by deep purple half circles from lack of sleep.

But

Sometimes my stomach is filled with butterflies,
and I silently hope they don't drown.

Occasionally my hands are in another pair of hands.
They're held like a prize.

Some nights my eyelids are kissed lightly to sleep.
My pupils dilate from the drugs,
and from that boy's love.

The white circles I swallowed every morning are supposed to make me feel better about life,
but I don't think any scientist, pharmacist, doctor
ever once anticipated the thought of another human being like him.

some day you'll say you need space.
but,
baby, i'd give you the whole ******* universe.