She said…

She said,
she’s never been
held like this before but,
not verbally.

It was in the way her
hands glided up
and down,
gripping enticement.

The way her fingers
ghost walked
down the corridor of my spine,
flanked my sides,
continued the aerial assault
on my senses
with nothing pretentious.

I could tell,
even her shadow
wanted to be one with mine
with a union that cloned
our identities,
so seamlessly.

An amalgam
of mind
and flesh,
and breath,
and chest;
a rhythm
we meshed

her inhibitions
lost their footing.
Her nails,
clawed for reasons
to let go,
found none
to drive her to safety
only satiety.

She converted my embrace
into home,
willingly placed herself
under house arrest
in my arms,
til she can trust
another’s touch
won’t leave her more judged
than justified,
more livid
than loved,
more broken
than she was found.


Next Crush

When she 
pretends to fall off 
the monkeybars, 
fabricates this scene
of disparity
to host your intro
as her hero, 
only to broadcast
that you have the cooties 
to every child present
after helping her up…

When he
writes you love letters so sweet
that your heart starts to
beat in Maple
and pulse in syrup, 
only for him to deny
that you aren’t his French vanilla
in the company
of “masculinity…” 

When she looks at you, 
eyes you down 
with disdain, 
disapproval leaking 
from the ceiling 
of her tolerance 
while you think 
you’re on the cusp of giving 
the world’s best 
best man’s speech… 

When he conveniently 
to introduce you 
as his better half
to his “she’s just a friend,” 
laughs it off 
in dismissive fashion 
as if your feelings 
were rations it’d be irrational 
to throw a war over…

When she sobers up 
after drunk texting you
her heart’s confessions
only to chalk it up
to a cup too many,
a will too weak… 

When honest conversations 
cease to arrest their attention.

When your weekend 
starts to feel like 
a merry-go-round of clubs
you’ve already seen enough of. 

When you find yourself questioning
why are you even here? 
What do you love about him
that keeps you around? 
What do you admire about her
that fuels your fire
to try to make things work? 

Step One: Self-assess. 
Never sit for a meal
where you’ve set the table, 
prepped the appetizers, 
main course AND dessert 
yet still expected 
to clean up after. 

Step Two: Re-evaluate. 
If this
wasn’t what you signed up for? 
Then do yourself a favor
and leave. 

Step Three: 
It really is that simple. 

Step Four:
Never stay
with someone who wants more
but is allergic to doing more. 

Step Five:
what made you feel alive. 
what about them sparked your flame. 
why he made you feel invincible. 
why you would go to war for her. 


Remember who you are,
that you’re priceless, 
worth going to war for, 
more than a flicker 
of flame dancing in rain. 
You are power, 
you are youth, 
you are beauty, 
you are truth. 

You are love so
Get your heart
so drunk with yourself
that you get cited 
with a DUI while sober. 

Get your heart
beating itself in disbelief
for taking this long
to find you. 

Get your heart
unbroken enough
to breakdance
in front of your next crush and
may your next crush
be no other
than you. 

Would You Close the Blinds?

We awoke
to gentle, liquefied knocks
pleading our window
for entrance;
watched the drops
tear-up from rejection
only to be held with comfort
by the pane.

We caught the sun
peaking thru the shades again
as stealthily as children do;
tip-toe along the sheets
to steal glimpses of your smile.
You were always breathtaking
in morning blush,
so much that my lungs
would asphyxiate,
searching for ways
to enlarge its cage
just to breathe you in

So I pulled you in
closer than fractions
of milliseconds,
as if to exchange
my atoms for an eve
of your dimples,
these sheets for your skin;
or to ink your desires
on my nervous system,
til loving you
becomes a reflex too hard
to ignore.

When words become as anchors
too heavy to be spoken,
let’s cut the line
with our tongues;
eclipse the ellipse
between our lips
by taking sips
of each other’s.

Let us
abort the past
and deliver nothing
but more of ourselves,
our patience,
as presents left vacant
to be filled
with a dash of time,
worth a morning we both
could sleep in to.

Morning Shift

Twin prongs from lamp plug
drearily dangle from reluctant sockets,
as do your tendrilous fingers
still twined in mine this morning,
harnessing potential energy
to be released
in caressing,
trailing sparks across my skin.
I wait,
to ignite your consciousness
to the powers you hold me captive to,
captive by.

The night’s covers
shies away from the suaveness
of your skin,
leaves you partially clothed,
bare to fantasy
and I to question:
“Why would you ever fancy me?”
The Pinnocchio of your childhood
still dreaming to be a boy,
your man.

Sunlight dances
feather-like choreography,
a tenderfoot upon your shoulder,
sliding bolder down collarbone
to tickle cheeks
with morning hues,
to land upon your lips
as you wake
with a bashful smile
and feline stretch;
and at this I knew,
my career in photography
would meet its superior,
and I?
My match.
For no film will ever develop,
mature adjectives to describe you,
there’ll never be enough pixels
to capture your beauty
in higher definition,
and no picture
will ever be as speechless
as I.