Those supernova eyes,
Outshine the galaxy in her freckles.
Her busts like mountains,
And curves like a river..
Hair radiating like sunrays,
Thighs like smooth iceberg..
Within her divine body, melts my universe.

I had gotten so used to self-hatred
That when he called me
"Beautiful"
I wondered why,
Why in the world
Would a bee leave
Roses, marigolds, sunflowers
And choose to be in the mud?
"Because YOU," he said,
"You are my lotus".

Tonight -
it's just me
and my cat
laying
on the same bed,
not caring
about each other
and i'm glad, at least -
it's not another
human
who is ignoring me
on the same bed

I can only write
When
my wine
is too strong
And feelings
too low.

Bukowski is right;
Poetry is what happens
when nothing else can.

I wish
my fingers
were his.
I don't think
about him,
my fingers do -
Touching me in places
I wish
only he did.

I shower alone.
The water I waste
The dreams that drain
The body I crave -
All swirl down
In foam & bubbles...
I.
Shower.
Alone.

He is the midnight thoughts
I shy away to write about -
Secretly terrifying me
With emotions I can't yet identify...

He is the poem
I've been longing to write -
Secretly inspiring me
To destroy everything that once made sense.

He is the calm disguise
I can't ignore -
Bringing hurricanes, butterflies, rain & sunshine
All at the same time