Below the Lines


Below the Lines


I wish to find your unique way

a puzzle piece to fit my empty spaces

where all the parts are set to match

my needs and wants, a disarray

of hazy emotions leaving traces

of who you are-

And who are you that softly knocks?

My heart so used to be alone

with doubt will peek into the unknown,

an ocean warm in bluish green

to engulf me whole

where lost I’ll be hung in between

your earnest dreams

and my desires-


“But if you tame me, then we

shall need each other. To me, you will be unique in all the world. To you, I

shall be unique in all the world.”

― Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, The Little Prince







Would you be for real?

Not behind the pages or the heated words

but right on my bed

(or the kitchen counter or the wooden floor)

Not in dreams so far

(across HD screens)

next to me on the sand looking at the sky

Would you be for real?

Living such adventures

making love at night

(or at noon if like)

filling you with pleasure

(not an avatar)

in a far, far land

where our love would die

(even if we Skype)

Would you be for real?

Not a fluffy pillow

to embrace at night when I feel alone

but a warm hard body

I could make it moan

with my flesh made tongue

(an emoji kiss only feels so wrong)

Would you be for real

and become my dear?

I would give you a key

to my house front door and my loving heart,

I would make love hard

(but with tender love)

and a left side place on my platform bed

(I prefer the right)

we can always sleep (sleep?)

embraced in the middle

but only if you are real

(not a world wide web)

where our love would die

(even if we Skype)

Would you be for real?


“It is a long way off, sir”

“From what Jane?”

“From England and from Thornfield: and ___”


“From you, sir”

― Charlotte Brontë, Jane Eyre






There was heat in your touch

of caressing fingers

a touch I yearn for when no longer here

but your presence lingers

in between my sheets

in between my memories of a sweet affair

when your body gave me the relief I wanted

and you became the air

and the blood that rushed through my heated skin.

There was heat in your kisses

that made my head spin

when you strode above riding me with pleasure

and your breast became tantalizing toys

for my mouth to play an enticing game.

You became a want every single day

 and I lost myself to the love you gave

and so badly needed,

you became my heat in the coldest night

with your burning flame.


“The Moth don’t care when he sees The Flame.

He might get burned, but he’s in the game.

And once he’s in, he can’t go back, he’ll

Beat his wings ’til he burns them black…

No, The Moth don’t care when he sees The Flame. . .

The Moth don’t care if The Flame is real,

‘Cause Flame and Moth got a sweetheart deal.

And nothing fuels a good flirtation,

Like Need and Anger and Desperation…

No, The Moth don’t care if The Flame is real. . . ”

― Aimee Mann

So Brief



So Brief


So brief ‘twas love but lasting yearn

will clutch my heart,

the heavens feel of loving once,

the hellish pain of losing part

of what became my daily fare

of cherished eyes

that looked upon this nether man-

So brief her lips

that left me stained in crimson red

to paint my dreams

of Neverland

and brief her skin

that kept me warm in winter’s heart

and fed my crave.

So brief the nights of naughty sin

when lost I found in her a land

to house my grave,

eternal soul forever yearn

so brief ‘twas-


“How we need another soul to cling to, another body to keep us warm. To rest and trust; to give your soul in confidence: I need this, I need someone to pour myself into.”

― Sylvia Plath

To Burn



To Burn


Ah those crumbs you leave behind for me to feed

just leave me hungry for the whole loaf-

You have a way to tickle dreams my dearest girl

entice my mind and make me need

our coupling words to plant a seed

and maybe grow into something more-

And then I feel the lava flow across my chest

and on my tongue a crave to taste

what flavors hide between your lips,

to rush my wants with hungry haste

my hardness strong

I’ll spread apart your eager hips

to find the streams of lava flow

and burn myself down to the core-


“As if you were on fire from within.

The moon lives in the lining of your skin.”

― Pablo Neruda






‘Tis a way of loving deeply seeded in a heart

left to wither, unfulfilled desires  scattered across

places where memories come to play.

And what to do with this overflow decay

of passion in nights when all I need is you

to sprawl your body wide apart

and engulf me whole, to ride me stead

until my wants become a few

exhausted dreams of flesh and sweat,

my aching need to taste eternity

above a goddess striding hard

and I to perish in your arms.


“Reason lost the battle, and all I could do was surrender and accept I was in love.”

― Paulo Coelho, The Witch Of Portobello

Of Passing Love



Of Passing Love


There are those I learned to love

across a room veiling looks of yearning,

across an ocean far, so far in nights of burning

their passion glowed across the distance.

But none would stay

to find what’s underneath

my wistful words

while dreams like clouds across the sky

would rain my love on empty lands

to grow the fruits of my existence.

I learned to love their tender hands

of those who touched my weary heart

and found a place to hide their pain

and the same hands

on summer nights  over the heat

of sweaty skin would make me ache

with deep desire-

I learned to love from them the fire

the spark of life that would defy

a dark sad day,

but none would stay

to find what’s underneath

my skin and bones

while life like waves was washed away

erasing prints of passing love-


“the saddest thing is to be

a minute to someone,

when you’ve made them your eternity.”

― Sanober Khan