Dream

Nightingales spread their wings above your eyes, leaving expectations of desire born to reality. Should I be that dream you seek, I will honor the wings, the dream, you.

She

She cannot remember the last night that rest

came without a fight.

She has not seen the dawn and paused with

anticipation and wonder.

She doesn't sing, her ears do not hear the music.

She used to look, eyes curious, anxious and hungry.

She sees nothing now.

She asked, “let me in”, waiting for a door to

open.

She begged for intersession, God was not listening.

She cuts over scarred wounds, wanting to feel

something, anything.

She screams for mercy knowing there is no succor

for her. Now.....or ever.

She is dammed and she knows this.

La Petite Mort

They were delivered last Wednesday. Late in the afternoon,

young man in a green cap.

Fumbled the flower box while finding tip money.

Inside lay twelve perfect peach roses, my favorite color.

Creamy, ripe and bursting with life. Overwhelming

spicy scent. God's perfection in velvety petals.

I place them on my desk. An ignominious spot for

such beauty. An indictment upon the one that sent them?

They remain there one week. Aroma filling the air

with the scent of death, decay. A relationship I

must end. Beauty has a limited life as do some

love affairs. This one reeks of roses.

The petals are withered, brown veins travel the length.

Edges sadly curling, heads droop. Dripping their

life onto the desk. I never did tell him I despise roses.

I never told him anything.

Succulent

I caresses it first in my hand
slide my fingers across the warm and
soft flesh.
Delicately fuzzy and oh so sensual.
The mind wanderers places unseen,
unexplored till this very moment.
The touch, fingers tingling.
Can you detect the sweetness, the
earthy scent?
Holding it ever so slightly,
a little closer.
Mouth waters with anticipation;
desire builds to a climactic crescendo.
A small bite,
tender and senses are overwhelmed.
A lick, another bite.
Juices drench my my chin, my neck
drip to my breast.
Using my fingertips to gather.
Sucking up the overflow.
Can you taste this wonder?
Do you feel what I do?