Wordle #244- Introduce Yourself

You are like the ghostly green penumbra

of a firefly on a damp Southern night.

Haunting and nebulous

I watch you pass into my dreams

with saintly restraint.

Your heart partially undressed

as you hold the door open

for me to follow you

to places inscrutable.

Behind your smile,

a kind of prayer

upturned and quixotic.

I love you until it burns.

My bare breasts sink

into your plaintive microcosm.

Your smooth

animal warmth

falling in waves

around me.

Your cautious tongue,

your misplaced hands

swirling the ether

within and without.

Once I had a name for you

(I called you Axel, DM)

Once I had a name for us

(I called us twinflames)

a name to coalese and clarify

but now I see that

we are altogether new.

Now I call you


(introduce yourself)

Dream Lover

Down Low

because you

are a secret

because you

are a mystery

Divine Liason

because you

connect me

to something


than I am alone.

I am so RUSTY also very emotional today so gibberish?


Love In Quarantine

In the spaces

between certain stars

the black tarp is so taunt

that you can just make out

the blue underneath.

I imagine you crouching

in that almost blackness,

in that beautiful, unending void

like a panther in prayer.

When you find me will you ravage me?

At last.

At last.

I can hear your eyes

opening and closing,

the faultless lament

of your soul begging

to be understood.

I know that some things

only make sense

to us in dreams.

I know that I am

only at home in the places

where we overlap.

Your pale fingers drown

in my eager currents,

in the madness that wakes me up

in the middle of the night

to scream, to scream.

Your name is the only poem

I can recite by heart.

It is the friction

of the sea which moves

me towards you

while the world spins itself

into tight, straight-edged circles

that eviscerate and bind.

It’s boring sometimes,

the waiting,

the tucking in and the pulling out,

the half-assessed attempts

to fit into my too small life.

In me there is a fleet

of unsailed ships.

I suck the tears

out of my hair,

the sting of salt,

the open wound,

the I love you

hot and sharp

on the tip

of my tongue.

I want to tell you everything.

At last.

At last.

Love Letter #27

Dear DF,

“Je t’aime” I’ve seen these words written on a plain white t-shirt not once but twice this week. I saw the words “Perfect Union” big and bold across my computer screen and it had nothing to do with twinflames, it was just one of those happy coincidences. I have seen twins, swans, and a million little reminders of our journey. Everything seems to contain something of you within its essence. I meet you in the strangest places, in the strangest ways, over and over again all day long.

It feels like my heart is the rope in a game of tug of war. Missing you hurts, physically. Still it is a privilege to miss you, to worry about you, to love you, to spend day after day bursting with thoughts of you. It’s been a year since I saved your photograph to my computer. A year since I first laid eyes on you by accident. I guess you could say this is our anniversary. It’s my anniversary of you anyhow.

Sometimes I imagine you writing, calling, showing up on my doorstep ready to lay your heart bare. I dream about you every night. So despite all of these near apocalyptical events I can’t really bring myself to hate this year. How could I hate any day knowing that we are alive? All I know is how I feel and I tell myself that I don’t need more than that, that all I need is the feeling of you but I’d be lying if I said that I’ve never thought about you in the flesh. What would you do with me in the flesh? What would you say? I want to know how you move across a room. I want to know how invasive you’d feel right up close to me because right now with all these miles between your presence is still swallowing me up. If I am going to drown in you I want to look you in the eyes when you take away my breath.

Je t’aime,



I struggle to anchor myself

beneath your gesturing tides.

My fingernails drag red ribbons

across the canvas of your back.

Your body is a Rorschach

of impressions and temptations.

The shape of your mouth

on consideration leaves me

wet and malleable.

The color of your eyes,

the angle of your jaw,

the shape of your nose

a beauty subject to proselytize.

I can think of a dozen ways

to worship you

using only my tongue.

None of which involve words.

All of which are poetry

in their own way.


I can feel you growing

desperate inside of me.

Your instrument filled

with music and the distress

of involuntary surrender.

If it were possible I’d let you carve

your soul directly into mine.

Wherever our pulses

overlap they are amplified

and if I had thoughts left to spin

they would be lost against

the breakwater of our bones.


Your breath dismantles

in the crucible of my ear

like soft, feathery wings

against a seductive halo.

I want to be reduced to pulp

by your nimble fingers

and when I have become

unstitched I want to feel

your tongue stoking

the scoria inside my chakras.

I am held together

only by the heat

of our synthesis

and the repetition

of your name.

Your name made obscene

by the installation and enunciation

of my ceaseless desire.

Your name a mantra,

a prayer, a star unfurling.


Deify me. Vilify me.

Love me like you

intend to give me

the moon afterwards.

I want to consecrate

every inch of your skin

with my bruised and bloody heart.

Your sex drenched, rooted

and strangled between

my milk pale thighs

fills me to excess

and all I can do is swallow.

Occupy Me

You make your presence known

and it doesn’t seem to matter

to my moon-struck mind

if we are in the same room or not.

There is sufficient space

behind my ribs

and if you would occupy me

I would occupy you.


Your loquacious eyes drown me

by the centimeter.

There is nothing you could say

that would mean as much to me

as the hunger of your attention.

Head cocked, I watch you

silently swallowing the air from my lungs

and you are so close

that I can taste your scent.

I am captivated by your mouth

going flush against my fingertips.

This is how we say hello.

Every time we meet

I find myself thinking

of all the ways we could

fit inside of each other.

Every time we meet

I want to drink you

by the milliliter.


I feel you whenever

I press my thighs together.

I feel you in the seismic echoes

of my sex as I surrender to myself

again and again on your behalf.

I feel you in every faltering breath,

in every start and stutter,

in the stars igniting and collapsing

underneath the cloak of my skin.

I feel you like a head on collision

and each day my awareness of you

drives me closer to addiction.

wasn’t planning on posting today but alas

Wordle #181

Wordle 181

We sit face to face
in a hyperthral silence
realizing each other
over and over again.

Your tongue is soft and soulful
inside my willing mouth.
I can tell that your searching
for leverage, for answers,
for a reason to surrender.

If I told you that I loved you
would you tap me on the shoulder
and erase me a decade at a time?
If I told you that I dreamed about you
would your smile spill like sunlight
over my naked, inconsequential soul?

I feel your heart scratching
at the back of my rib cage
like a featureless clock.
The steady rhythm of your pulse
drawing down the moon.

almost ran out of time so not very polished I’m afraid

When Touching


What can words convey
that a gesture can not
more aptly translate?
Last night you spoke to me
but I couldn’t make out the message.
We were lying face to face
in a dream too real
to be dreamed in isolation.
Your beautiful, mysterious mouth
hugging the curves of every
vowel and consonant
speaking in a voice
too distorted to belong to you.
Perhaps our tongues
are more articulate when touching?

Wordle #444

Wordle 444

I trace your lips with my tongue
unraveling myself in your mouth
as if I were a molten skyline
or an orgy of juvenile lust
scribbled between
the fine blue margins
of a hormone soaked diary.

If it were up to me
you’d drag my body
speared and piecemeal
from room to room
and fill me to drowning.
Your green eyes loosening
the threads which hold
my sense of self intact.

If I were made of lace
I’d come apart on top of you
like butterfly wings
in a child’s hands.
I never thought a figment
could go so deep
but the bite marks
in my heart are proof of possession,
proof that you have altered my design.
If it is the chase you relish
then I have already lost
for love could never be a game to me.