25 Things I Haven’t Said To You (out loud)

  1. That I bought the sweater as a thank you.
  2. That I would gladly talk to you any day, every day, about anything at all.
  3. That I dream about you almost every night.
  4. That I sleep with the sweater every night.
  5. That the first time I saw you was in a vision I had when I was a teenager.
  6. That if you asked me on a date I would say yes.
  7. That I’ve written you dozens of poems and letters but I haven’t sent you a single one.
  8. That I’m obsessed with you because obsession has such a bad connotation and really all I mean is that my feelings are consistent and passionate.
  9. That I masturbate thinking of your mouth, your thighs, your hands.
  10. That I am single.
  11. That I’ve bought loads of tarot cards in an effort to understand this situation better and that I love them all.
  12. That I talk to you every night before bed telepathically.
  13. That I am writing an erotic novel. Because I want to. Because you inspire me. Because I have no idea what to do with all these passionate feelings.
  14. That I want to get to know you in an every day sort of way.
  15. That above everything else I want to be myself.
  16. That I am happiest when I am dreaming of you.
  17. That the first time I ever saw your picture I felt that you were important and I still feel that way. I want to say let’s create something together.
  18. That I am trying to be a happier person in general.
  19. That I’ve been studying French ever since we met.
  20. That I can only be me.
  21. That I love you.
  22. That I really do want you to have a gorgeous day, every day.
  23. That I was perhaps both too eager and too subtle in my initial approach.
  24. That I overcame a lifelong phobia of riding a bike because I hoped in overcoming my fears I could live my life more fully because meeting you inspired me to live more fully.
  25. That you have a beautiful soul. You feel beautiful and I would love to connect with you on so many levels.


I am shedding scars
so that my heart will open
without cracking.
If only you knew
the depth of my love.
I want to write confessions
down the length of your spine
using only the tip of my tongue.
You are the only one
who understands me.
You are the one
in whom my instincts gather,
and when your migration
is through I hope that you
will occupy me all the way.

I am turning the stars into thread
so that I can stitch fire
into the palms of my outstretched hands.
I want to make miracles with you.
I want you to take me as an instrument
between the threshold of your lips
and force your breath into me.

Tell me that you are the wolf
tugging down the moon,
Tell me that you are the man
peering back at me
through the veil of my dreams.
Tell me that this obsession
runs both ways.


If I stood before you

mouth askance,

fingers folded

into the hem of my shirt,

gaze soft and itinerant

would you pay attention?

If I stood before you

with too much to say

would you wait for my words

to push their way past

my trembling heart?


I could stand here

all day drowning on air

thinking without thoughts,

feeling too many feelings,

alive but blank as paper.

I could stand here

all day with my silk wings

tied behind my back

and my hair rising and falling

on an intermittent breeze

looking more vulnerable

than I ever intended.


Would you let me tattoo

invisible poems on your skin

with my fingertips

in order to occupy the silence

between each breath?

I would break down

between your arms.

I would let you tuck

our smiles together

for safe-keeping.

I would gladly spend

all night rearranging

our bodies underneath

a bruised meniscus.

In the moon-heavy darkness

I would gladly undress for you.

Wordle 233 and 234


Skeletons spill from your mouth,
from the sinister moon swelling
beneath your wire-threaded chest.
A gift that keeps my head spinning,
a heart stepping over impossibles
for the sake of change, for the sake
of justice though it has no such calling.

I shift to the present, to the fire spiraling
laterally up my incandescent thighs,
a dream fluctuating within a dream.
A revenant sighing in dismissal,
drops all claim to bustling streets.
A shaft of light inches thick roars up
from my upholstered window and you are there
suddenly and without warning.

One death tucked within another,
an engagement that claws its way
spectacularly to the surface though
it has long since passed.
I should have loved you better,
as a pilot loves the sky with
all her incredulous features.
A scrap of cloud held between
the teeth, aloft but in tethers.
Just one touch, the first and the last
sewn together.

I attempted to combine the two Wordles XD



I ease myself into his throat

decalescent and substantial

like a memory too exclusive

to divulge in conversation.

I clip his tongue, dance

in the groove of his soft palate,

slide sideways along pink gums

and imperfect teeth.

His first confession

and he’s all nerves

and no etiquette.

Not a word but a murmur,

a subcutaneous plea

extricated from a darkness

so vulnerable it bleeds.

I do not even hear her reply

but I can taste it and it’s as if

all the oceans submerged themselves.


I assign dreams to you,

Whole lifetimes,

Veils to obscure

Your inevitable failures

That we may know

Perfection if only

In the beginnings.

The tug of eyelashes

Undressing the irises beneath

The paradoxical greens

Triumphant in application

You look at me as if

To remove my trappings,

My indeterminates,

My limestone scars, quarried.

I disintegrate at your insistence

Passing electrons fed on

A disquieting cumulus.

The emptiness fills me

Heavy, insistent.

I rock my way to the shore

Swallowing great mouthfuls

Of procreative mire.

Extract the grail from

Its pulpy manifestations

Drive it into the grave

And watch it rebirth itself,

A moment to culminate

All our dazzling shifts.

Ghost Lover

I left it all up to interpretation

Those intangibles, those ripe fruits

Destined to remain unpeeled.

For a man of riddles

You have a way of overlooking

Even the most obnoxious clues.


Confession dulls the heart

I prefer to decay

In the open sunlight

Feeling every moment

Stewing and simmering

The heat scorching my surfaces

So that only the essence persists.


This is my love

There is no need

For an object or an objective

Life provides an ample palate

And art is always the most vivid

When it incises truth.


That I could drink you

And quench my thirst

As one gleans invisibles

From the rustling

Of unoccupied sheets.

Egoism Snippets



Who exists

That does not euphemize

With metaphor?

Who exists

That speaks of their faults

With neither pride

Nor placebo?


I have lied

To spare myself

I do not

Know how to face

Your pain

Without my ego


A comparative


I do not

Know how to court

Your brilliance


Turning on

Artificial lights

That I might not

In proximity



I was not born a poet

I neither command

Nor navigate the stars


Paranoia drives me


Into cellars

Pungent with decay

That I might

Entertain my vices




By confession

I compose

These words

In the residue

Of an instinctive




I speak

Only that

I might be



I was just contemplating certain aspects of human nature, I used the pronoun ā€œIā€ broadly though I am guilty of being egocentric at times as well

Writer (haiku)

writer2Art By: Valdimir Moldavsky


Shadows of being,

These poems, which have come now

To possess my heart


When held, confessions

Impel the transgressor

To repeat their crimes


Thunder is a threat

Which in passing leaves no mark

On the audience

I’ll take the lightning,

For it employs the heat

Essential to burn


Conflict begets art

All writer’s create within

Themselves a rival


Poems are like weeds

Tenacious vessels that breed

In spite of hardship