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


Skin to Skin



Skin to Skin


There is something about skin to skin

that intoxicates and dull my senses,

the exquisite feel of sweat and oil

between the tightness of two bodies

that glide across with legs uncoil

in rubbing back and forth desires-

There is something that consumes my mind

her rounded back which makes me flushed

with lust and wants, and my body tenses

amid the moans when holding strong

skin to skin, my fingers rushed

between her thighs the pleasure find

and lost become where I belong,

skin to skin-


“There is a perfection in everything that cannot be owned.”

― Anaïs Nin, Delta of Venus

Eyes Closed



Eyes Closed


I found solace in her arms wrapped

around the comfort of desires let loose

by a need to discover and seduce

our bodies for a night-

But a night not enough to satisfy

our thirst for a touch,

we made love with eyes closed

then resolved it was right

 for two nights

and pretended was fair.

But two nights our thirst did not quench

and so stayed for a week

while we kissed with eyes closed

and pretended was right

for a week our thirst to overcome,

but a week not enough

for two restless souls

searching love to succumb

thus we kissed with eyes closed

and pretended was fate,

as we stayed and made love for a while

with our skin needing touch

we built time to forget

when we kissed and we touched

with eyes closed

and pretended was love-


“But maybe happiness isn’t in the choosing. Maybe it’s in the fiction, in the pretending: that wherever we have ended up is where we intended to be all along.”

― Lauren Oliver, Requiem






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

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

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