Tanka # 58

Plume of shadow…
inking the night
into her aching skin,
poetry in fervent waves,
stars in lashing whips.

Letter, September 29, 2015

I write poetry, but in truth all I do is gather your fragrances like mist over a lake. All I do is hunt for the breaths that have since long left your lips and harness them into bundles of words. And in the process I turn into a moth whose being has disintegrated in the fire of your flame. Thus, I inhabit the ether of your fire, unlocking the secret that birthed life and all the stars.

Free Verse # 318 (skin on skin)

Under my tongue
her honeyed kiss,
a succulent poem
melting all day, all night,
filling my veins
with her solar fire,
the throb of her want.


His hands on her body…
rivers of lava
flooding her secret wells,
in moans and fevered breaths
carrying her heartbeats,
seeds of poetry.


Photographer unknown
Photographer unknown

Skin on skin
the hand of night
merging them,
two souls bare,
revealed to their core,
their molten flesh
a river flooding
the sea night,
a hidden dawn,
a nebula of stars.


All my poems…
dewdrops whispered
on her lips at dawn