More or Less



More or Less


Would I love you the same, more or less?

His hands heavy on your skin

staining dreams

left in purpose behind for a sin

to be nourish ‘til bloom.

And I know to belong takes more than a ring

or the passing of years

and what holds you together presumed

to be love and not fears.

But, does he loves you the same, more or less?

Does he smells your perfume like I do

on my pillow when I wish your embrace

 wasn’t leftover dreams?

Tell me then if he sets you aflame

why you look for my face

and at night making love you remember

to bite hard on your lips

so you won’t call my name-

Do you love me the same, more or less?


“If he touched her, he couldn’t talk to her, if he loved her he couldn’t leave, if he spoke he couldn’t listen, if he fought he couldn’t win.”

― Arundhati Roy, The God of Small Things







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






‘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






And yet I come to love the who you are inside

those lips and skin that calls my name

your beauty like a mirror reflecting all my dreams

enticing to relight an old flame

that burned so hot for years

while craving once again what’s hiding underneath

I pull the covers tight

and dream of flying high

under your loving wings-


“When the sun has set, no candle can replace it.” 
― George R.R. Martin

A Place on Your Skin



A Place on Your Skin


I seek a place on your skin to hide desires

naked dreams shy from others to see

the folds around your neck in dire need

for lips to bury deep until they melt

and disappear becoming one-

A place between your breasts my lust

to keep away from prying eyes

when late at night it wakes and rise

on black smooth sheets to keep it yours

when yours become after a while

of hiding deep underneath your skin.

And thus a place between your thighs

to keep my secrets and my needs

secluded far from daily life

from all to feel the burning heat

your skin would shelter every night

and only you could safely ignite-

I seek a place on your skin to plant my seeds

of love and lust that hide between

the words I write,

and only you could safely touch

once tucked away beneath your skin-


“I loved you with texture. You loved with a softness. Texture brought detail, softness brought folds. Folds brought creases and creases had secrets.”

― Dominic Riccitello