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me on my back
nude upon warm
white sand he
lying on his side
a few feet away
observes my breast
against a clear summer sky
standing proud
the peak a different color
than the rest
says
it looks just like a mountain
I giggle
for mountains and my breasts
have never been
in the same sentence before

Anniversary Dinner

on ivory lace she laid
sugary breasts
salted thighs
a magnificent mound of
cinnamon ripe apples
pink petals and
a juicy pear

he laid red
roses on her belly lit
long lilac candles poured
red wine and brought
a great appetite

Backwards

we fucked on friday
he bought me flowers on saturday
we fought like hell on sunday
seems we do everything backwards
other couples fight
then come the flowers
and then, maybe, the fucking
but we do it backwards

we became lovers
while being roommates
so suddenly i was living with
someone i'd just started seeing
and, of course, i had to ask him
to move out
so we could be together

To The Earth's Flowers

When you turn out to be beautiful
all the creepy insects and arachnids
craw out of the darkness to get near you,
to be on you, in you, sucking, nibbling.
When you turn out to be beautiful
they come out to, in some way,devour you.
Claw at your heart, try to claim it as theirs
look for places within to penetrate,
to work their slimy selves inside, searching
for you gems to take and leave you empty.

Private Encounter at an Open Mic

I feel his poem
like a tongue
on my nipples
like firm fingers
pressing into the flesh
of my thighs.
I blush in the dim room.
He doesn't see.
I know he feels
my poem in places too
'cause when I finished, he
said, "Please come back"
like a man left wanting
helplessly watching me dress and leave
not knowing I'm still throbbing
nowhere near done
just elongating the foreplay
anticipating his next poem.