Why are we drawn
to lust,
to the hunger of flesh,
to devour food
as if the body remembers
a hunger older than time?

Because we are soil!
And we desire
grain,
flesh,
which too rise
from soil.

Like calls to like.
Atoms seek atoms.

The universe obeys
its own silent gravity.

Our lust,
and longings
die
when we return
to the dust
we came from.
But even then,
it’s not over.

Our atoms will scatter
into soil,
into seeds,
into skins.

And somewhere,
in someone,
they will long
again.
Not with our name,
but with our echo.

Maybe, the bodies you see
are echoes,
of echoes,
of echoes...
of echoes…
…
..
.

Come feel the waters swell
Lips find pulses
Wave crashes into wave

Breath hastens swirling winds
Wave crashes into wave;
crashes into wave

Eyes
   clouded skies
Fingertips
   raindrops hungry for dirt
Fell
    and found the sea
Wave crashes into wave
Deep
  Crash into me

Lightning radiates surrender
Chests drifting thunder
And the tide slinks back to the sea
as you pull yourself out of me

I remember meeting you outside the party
our friends were wasted in love
looking for a savior with their bodies
You were sitting, singing a melody I recognised
I remember leaving, crying while drinking your last cup
you were smoking while our song was playing
but we didn't even know each other
The lights paralysed my thoughts
and I was drowning in words that refused to leave my mouth
You were laughing in the car with a girl I called pretty
some hours ago, in front of you
before the incident
I remember writing under the constellations,
in a corner where the lenses couldn't approach me
and the purple and blue flashes only touched pieces of the lunar light.
I remember writing a love song about someone I never met and never will
and then you had the guts to ask me for a cigarette
but I gave you a lighter I always carry around
You saw my tears falling down inside your drink
so you decided to drink my soul instead
The girl I called pretty got hypnotised
by the laughs and the screams inside
and suddenly it was just us
and our heartbeats
I remember meeting you outside the party
but you told me you couldn't see your reflection anymore through my eyes
you told me I was just a girl that stole your sanityand filled it with smoke
and then our heartbeats touched
and the incident happened
and I wasted parts of myself in the kiss we exchanged.
I smiled
I smiled and your lips formed a deeply regretful smirk.
I remember meeting you outside my party
wasted on love or greed or foolishness
or was I just high on hope and delusion?
I chose the wrong substances
and now I'm stuck with your regrets
and your cigarette infused breath you let me taste
I ran to change the song to something everyone likes but me and you.
I danced with our memories
and you danced with your chosen loneliness.
I remember it was the best party
I've ever had
I remember admiring how much you were hurting
I remember lying to myself about feeling shame about it
and it was the last chance I had to remembering you
I vaguely have any memories from all the parties you haven't been since then
but I'm throwing one now
and I know you'll remember it
meet me outside the party.

...gentle breezes
rung the wind chimes
of two hearts
pulsing
for freedom
chorused ecstacy
tickled
the goosepimples
of breathy lovers
caressing
their love-slick bodies
oil
of romance
dripped
sizzling
'pon the ground
of their windswept haven
their sighs
matched the melody
the hollow sighs
of our earth's lungs
for they
were the energy
sustaining
love
and giving atmosphere
to worlds
untold...

Flawed, Love
by E.J. Crowe

I get chills trying to love—
cold sweats, goosebumps,
when **** starts to weave right for once.
I self-destruct.
Blow up.
Turn toxic in the worst way.
Push the webs of depth and truth
to the darkest corners.

I yell.
I swear.
I break ****.

Why?
When love = pure.
But for me, pure =
hidden agendas,
secrets and ***** whispers.

My life only feels normal
when surrounded by chaos and pain—
that’s how my parents and foster homes molded me.
My love ballets are spiteful, *****.
“You stupid *****, you dumb *****,”
as I choke her and feel her wetness.
That’s passion.
That’s love.

Bedroom erotica.
Most women love that.
Especially my wife.
She was there—
when I was homeless, addicted.

Yet still,
tick tick tick,
I try and self-destruct.
The quiet explosion.
Tension.
Fake arguments.
Secret love.

Can I be honest?
Can I deliver my flawed, honorable love?
Or is it just lust that makes me crazy?

Her curves—
a canvas to explore
with calloused hands.
Roaming.
A hitch in her breath.
A gasp—
as she wraps her legs around me
and pulls me deep.

Can I be normal?
Is this normal?

Long nights,
shallow thoughts,
while she sleeps in a lustful glazed haze.
She loves our intimate time—
when I degrade and choke.
Once it's over,
it’s like an elongated dream.
“I love you.”
“I love you more.”

Back to innocence.
Hand-holding.
Kissing.
And in that moment of calm,
I finally feel something close to peace.

She kissed my scars like they were scripture,
and I bled peace for the first time.

Take me back to the South?
I rubbed a puppy but you made it live,
I held your hand and ego as a ghost rode *****,
I tasted your mouth
Your deep addictive kisses were salty ripe with hidden tears, expectations and confessions of fears,
You pressed me for affirmation with one foot out the door,
My supposition acquiesced to passion
Then, you disappeared

Now you’re here
Pressing me,
Asking me what do I want?
I need consistency, presence, commitment, and time.

What do I feel?
What I feel is
Soul mate attraction,
Unconfined by silence,
Driven, diving, biding
Ineffable, inexplicable, unconstrainable
Uncontainable love and lust
Intertwined and unbound
How do you feel?

Do you have clarity?
For me, it’s taking its sweet time
Dragging and compartmentalizing
The inner unraveling of the unforgiven knot of the unacknowledged
The unpolished
And unabolished.

What do I want?
Excuse me as I try to unpack the dusty boxes,
On my neglected shelves.
I’m not a stranger to love or lust,
But, I’m not a friend either.
I’m not an enchantress,
No siren here my friend.
Nor, am I an open book,
My closest companions are the choir of thoughts,
Who sing songs of loyalty, doubts and declarations,
I’ve wandered but
I want a true partner to walk hand in hand the path of a life mundane,
Stealing moments of hungry happiness, exquisite.

You break down my defenses
Despite all logic and suppression,
Fingers press into mind’s flesh,
Nails rake down your neck.
My heart pounds and my mouth rounds,
Warm wet worship,
Down the base of your inspiring ****.
Your groaning and growing elicit my complete attention,
And, focus my irreverent intentions
To unraveling the bead formed on the cusp of your tip,
Your palms trace the strands of my hair,
Your pleasure drives sated completion
Is it plans or preoccupations of hands?
Are you practicing yet?

For now, as you lament love lost
I’ll sit quasi patient,
Outwardly immobile and facetiously engaged
Damp wanting but waiting,
Quietly watching the two flames in my candle
As they melt and burn the wax around its’ wicks,
Hot but constrained
Destructive but contained.

I’ll be externally reverent for the life carefully molded,
Grateful for familial serenity
But, ever mindful of the calling,
Forged by sound, touch and taste
To an internal dereliction sung by our blue flame.