Tanka # 58

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

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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