Friday, December 11, 2015

Chipped Emeralds

With eyes like chipped Emeralds, the mermaid stole
everyone’s attention. Her voice raspy like a summer hive,
she noted, “What if truth were a slithering force or a

Or, a stinging bee unusually flying in December?”
Her cheeks rosy with concern were only a tiny
chamber of the hexagon that hid her emotions.

The crowd leaned forward, you know in
alley cat curiosity, their hearts beating like a
rapid wing of the bee, hung on her wingbeat
frequency. Of course though, her wingbeats
were fins.

Her language stumbled like figure eights corresponding
to an abstract code.  She waggled, “Would you speak
the truth if it hurt?”

Wednesday, December 2, 2015

Odin's Ravens Meet Her Broom

No sooner did you turn the moon into liquid
and pour it over me,
splashing like Odin’s silver coins
on my thighs, that your riches gave me the hint.
You are Odin.
No crest fallen lies, no spiritual disguise
just nine enchanted herbs
in your garden of cures.
You are the catalyst for each old fashioned warlock
each trickster witch
while they spoon each other after
“Did you feel that?” she asks,
“Did you hear me?” he answers,
as they pull their sticky thighs apart like
pine honey on silver coins.

Her eyes black like Odin’s ravens, dance
like Odin’s swords before nestling to
sleep entangled like Odin’s wolves
guarding the dream peninsula.

Your seed threads my root
in spiritual botany while
my ash, birch and
willow lay bound
beneath our

Saturday, November 7, 2015

The High Tequila of Angel Falls

Underneath an ink black sky on a mythical island
long-tongue Bats pollinate fruitlets of Saguaro and
just above the cacti-jumping charcoal Wolves’ is the
tree bed for you and I to cross pollinate each other, too.

Across the world
the desert air coats our throats.

An Oriole flinches in a lemon tree;
a Finch pecks a narrow lemon branch and
plump Sparrows with eyes like periscopes flutter
in puddles of evolution. None as charming as the scanty
Bat stirring a cauldron of tequila, his role silent
and unacknowledged, while we ancestrally hug with
mutual reliance like thorny stocks of wild agave.

Across the world
we believe in mythical islands best when drinking tequila.
You and I stick to slurping honeywater.
Everyone loves nocturnal secrets. 

(They did, they fell in love.)

Friday, November 28, 2014


The Festival of Adonis
The Summer Triangles plummet from a blackberry sky.
The lazier stars simply chameleon against the midnight,
foretelling of the cold coming. We wrap ourselves in mint
leaves and melted chocolate licking each other and smiling.
Our Autumn mudslide rolls into Winter and your Adonis shoulders
triangulate my Aphrodite navel and we are an open cluster of night
diamonds. The blueberry veins of your Magellanic neck churn
territorially and I wrap my legs to the small of your back.
A waterfall of stars pours from you into me and we bite
and worship each other like black bears in Spring attending
The Festival of Adonis.

Wednesday, November 19, 2014

The Growing Kiss

Suddenly, the ice blossoms of your frosty wolf beard crack
and needle towards the dead wood of your neck. I love your
bark with pores that host my nectar.

Mists of frozen brides named Jill, with blue lips,
want the groom.

Winter water is rarely kind, like the Winter witches.
They allow Spring to cling on their necks, insulating
their avalanche breasts. Their lips are blue, too.

A necklace of wolves traps your ice sheet of ferns.
We name the leader, Jack Frost.

We follow a morning bed path with temple overhang trees.
Our deep and nesting steps palpably hunt the birds of Sagittarius
as we each decline a quiver of arrows. Behind us, a flat basin of
sticks swallow our snowy prints. We want to blossom on Neptune
where there are no hooked bill predators, no especially long stooping
drinkers. No thighs of black feathers. We want our nuptials on Neptune.

The tumbleweeding of your ice crystals never plateau. 
And, you are fascinating as

In the southern forelegs of galactic grass you invite me

to nurture myself under the shoulder of an archer drawing his bow.
You are my archer and I can bite into that flesh of you like a ripe red apple.
A concave nebula, the arch of your arm, curls around me like a lagoon of
warm stars. We are two star systems rimming with no circular crater motions.
We flood into each other like moon rays trespassing over flash frozen lava.
We find wanted minerals in each other and with no lilac-breasted shields,
cone our forelegs into each other.

A lava rope milks us tighter to each other and my womb finds your long
limbwalk and we make love at a climbing camp. Stripping naked amongst
wild fig trees, sometimes our animalness cloaks our ruthlessness. Never
misbehaving in our snowy grass, the birds of Sagittarius cronk like Ishtar’s
ghost daughters playing euphoniums. Jack Frost preys on their thrusting hips.

Suddenly, we fall in love.

Thursday, October 30, 2014

Taming of Authority

My stunning maharishi requested me to sleep in her vampire casket all days
of September and October alongside her brilliant novel writing mind.  She writes
of vampire lineage and it is my turn with her and I know she’s just closed her eyes
by the cadence of her breath.

Last night she shoo’d me to fly out, upon waking.
She whispered, “Go soothe the branded chest that you’ve seared your name onto.”

I find you, again and
I perch right on your cock with your wrists in cuffs and your neck in collar and
trace the Tracy.  It only makes my desire stronger to know we’ve shared
this fondness from the times of bizarre
Pharaohs when males were

“Write about it,” she coos.  “I know you are the dawn to decadence,” and
she flutters back to her lair and I am lured back to your charred chest in fascination.

I am a piranha of self-discovery and I would never tame your authority.
Piranhas never see the dead prey in front of them, they like the trail
of the alive.  Exotic fish traders often misidentify their force.
They are the Pisces.

It is a Tracy dawn and time to swoop back to my stunning maharishi.
She reminds me to be the exotic fish trader and to escort the
piranha back to

I feel like healing.
lose your eyes.

Tuesday, April 22, 2014

Naked Navy

Your wilderness is nothing more than my eternal navy sky.
Make your bed in my golden Savannah grass where there are no thirsting temple rules.  A lioness bed is my curvy body and while you are licking, I will smile.
You hold the secret of my thunder.  The secret is that the stars must shift.
That shift creates the boom and everyone longs for the boom.
Are you ready; we are the shifters holding the cords to the primordial stars.
The same charismatic cords that move the stars to crack the boom.
Let’s paint each other in naked navy and we can nourish the stars.
My mouth waters to taste you and me.  This is me when you are my wilderness.
In naked navy.