Tattoos and piercings are lodged in the weave of her becoming
A pale flame that undulates from my hips towards the ceiling
She feels like mine but she is held within the darkness’ grip
Its heavy fingers are printed in the slats between her ribs Continue reading
You rang me like a bell.
I lie on my back with the night pressed against my face
And the images resonate one after another –
Lying propped on your elbow in the eddies of the sheets
Looking at your bare ass as you’re bent over packing your suitcase
Prowling the footpath beside me with high-heeled precision
Reaching up inside you toward the depths of where you dream
Her absence
luscious and pendulous
rhythmic and sussurant
respires beside me in the darkness Continue reading
We met at the gym. I can remember a number of occasions I had seen her before we spoke, and she flowed inside the parameters of her name. Continue reading
I have come late to the Lingerie Football League. Like most things of this nature, it appeared on my Facebook feed courtesy of my good friend and arbiter of all things that ride the cutting edge of bad taste, Matt Samartzis. Continue reading
Epilogue
“Forget everything anybody says or does; everything is a cry, please love me.”
-Hafiz,
Sufi poet. Continue reading
