Empty Rooms

I wander through the empty rooms in which I have not been
I see through your eyes lights illuminating bodies,
shadows pouring over bones, over skin,
gestures we have not yet uttered to each other
words we have not shared
bounce off walls still standing bare.
Was it me you wanted in those rooms, or someone else?
That new expansive house beside the lake she locked you in
where you comply, contented.
You invite me in to see what you have seen
but not to touch.
I want to touch your walls of fine confinement
I want to fill them with my cries, with yours.
In truth, it does not matter to have been there
or to have only been a ghost
it's in your mind I wish to fester
leave a scar as deep as you scarred mine.
You'll take me anywhere you go, you said
as you were leaving
lamenting what had happened when we were apart.
And here we are so long after facts disintegrated into riddles
still sort of talking, still ghosting in each others' thoughts.
Our time together lasted only minutes,
it might as well have been a lifetime, if at all.

white line

I like a messy life
low and dirty
feelings strewn about in abundant disarray,
coloured confusion.
I know not who, where,
why I like it so.
I might have lost myself
never to be found, found out
I could hide in plain view
cover truth with white lies
bodies with imagined bliss
clothes with blinding nakedness
pain with searing pleasure.
The search for clarity is useless.
Only one thing is sure: you
A virus in my dna
my other nature, my counterpoint.
There is a straight white line, simple,
from me to you to me to you
a nerve you thought you had cut off.
You called what we were doing thin.
I dare not contradict
why argue now, with no one in particular.
It isn’t thin at all, though I consider:
Thin is my protective membrane -
fragility shrouded by audacity, a fake.
Thin are your thighs I want to grip.
Thin is my body in your hand.
Thin is the veil you draped your thoughts.
Perhaps one day, before we die
you’ll come about.

I know nothing/He knows everything

I wonder why you do not want to see me
is it my love sick eyes you wish to avoid
my sunken face looking at you,
searching your eyes for a trace of affection
my hand reaching to touch yours, unable to stop
the pang of guilt you might feel.

I wonder why you want to see me
to bask in my love sick eyes
my sadness for your loss
my involuntary touch of your hand
how guiltless you feel, how loved.

Which one makes you contact me?

In my dream

I had to nap my headache off.
I invited you to come to me
my bed is the perfect hight
I said
you fed me your cock
you watched the tears stream
down my face
I cried because I knew you would
leave so soon
leave me dripping your cum, my tears
but my revenge was there
you will never forget my wet face
the clenched eyes, the waiting mouth,
You will remember me.

Not Dead Yet

I get dressed
I think of you
I ride my bike
I think of you
I go to work
I think of you
I walk home
I think of you
I meet a friend
I think of you
I watch a film
I think of you
I listen to songs
I think of you
I dance
I think of you
I fuck
I think of you
I read
I think of you
I write
I think of you
I live
I think of you
I'll probably be thinking of you when I die.
But I'm not dead yet.

Brief Moment In Time

I miss you something fierce this time of year
when the sun is warming
and the light gets brighter every day
and the days can be brilliant
and I am reminded of my happiness then
when we got to know each other for a brief moment in time
when you would look at me and smile
and I felt your eyes resting on my body
wanting me wanting you
and I was lighter than I have been in my life.

But I know I never really knew you
and I am as heavy as I was before you
heavy inside my small lithe body
heavy in my heart.
I ask my men to lay on top of me
when they are done
so I can feel me underneath their heavy bones
their beating hearts
just to know again that we are real
that I am here,
me with no you.

Jagged Edge

You inserted yourself into my life like a jagged arrow
dipped in potions to ease its course into my heart
then with an 'oops, sorry, mistake, don't mind me, I'm just leaving'
yanked yourself out without a thought
a hasty cruel yank
leaving my flesh torn in places where the pleasure you introduced
pierced my dormant desire effortlessly
the flesh wound remained, the bleeding never stops,
as no amount of damage control or bandaging I administer
by letting others pet the hole that you created
makes a difference
since it is not administered by you.

And your silence compounds the pain.
there was that enormous pleasure you brought to me
now the pain of your silences is harder to endure than knowing my father is dying
his impending painful death is caused by no one, therefore bearable
your actions are chosen by you.
That is the hardest fact to face: this pain of mine is bringing you joy.

Lifting Fog

This week marks an anniversary of sorts, of the time you came by to give me a little kiss on the mouth, unexpectedly, a little thing that changed the course of my life.
So long after the fact, it's still a mystery to me what it was you came for, but more so what you found - and lost so very fast - only because nothing was ever stated.

Yet, these days more than before, my mind clears up from all that fog. I like fog, I let it linger far too long - it makes things more beautiful than they really are, mysterious, alluring, gentle, it blurs strict lines, obscures truths, softens the harshness of blatant thoughts.
I keep your image in that foggy cage in my mind, tucking a little farther away day by day, because it provides many a thing: an escape, a protection from further harm, an excuse for actions taken on a dangerous route, a reminder of the reasons to continue to live and seek some happiness in a world were happiness is such a fleeting moment.

I know the truth, the reality is there, was always there for me to ignore, but I let you linger there as something else than what it was for my own selfish reasons. All of last year I did it to protect your image in my mind, to preserve a love I thought you deserved. Now I know it's changed, and it's for me. It's me who deserves the protection, the erasure of the ugly, preservation of beauty alone is what I give to myself, because from you it would never again arrive.

Curl

All curled up, in a tight embrace, an intimate closeness that brings so much pleasure, along with memories of another, tho one who could never take the time, always rushing, never really there.
The contrast is pleasing, the 'Now' takes over the 'Then", at last. Maybe there is a future for desire that would erase the absences, a flourishing desire that is all me.

Gaping Heart

In the generous, shallow light of my bedroom
My skin seem perfect as it never was,
The lines of my body sublime
I rise from the conjugal bed
I walk past the mirror, I admire

The water rush down my limbs
I see them from above
my head is bent
I remember what took place in my mind
As other hands provided pleasures
I wanted from you

You held me
Your hand on my neck
Guiding my head my lips to yours
Your kiss vengeful and tender
You put your hand at the small of my back
You push me
You find me you enter
You get closer with force
You undo my every nerve
There is nothing left of me and you
If we got any closer we would melt into each other
And when you empty into me
You leave
You drain out of my gaping heart drop by sweet drop
And I am as empty as I was
When I knew you were never there
And I know I will wait for you
To empty me again one day.

Today's Unsent Letter

It's a curious thing, the way you contact me, send a little antenna to check if I'm still here, and then withdraw it back just as I come into view.
Why do you send a picture of what you see around you, why do you send me an intimate thought of me that involves your body or your women, why reach out and then shut down as soon as I come towards you in any way?
I wish you could understand what imbalance you create in my life when you do this. In fact I think you do understand it and pretend not to, I think you love doing it. I think you derive pleasure from knowing you can unhinge me so easily. You possess a cruel side to your personality that makes it harder and harder to connect to. I believe that what I'm connecting to still is the charming you, the one that was able to draw me out of my protective shell. The cruel side of you is going to become a burden one day. I wish I had never seen it.

Hurt For Me

I see myself in their mirrors, on their beds, under their bodies, their hands on me, their cocks hurry into me with urgency and pleasure, it is a beautiful thing, and I want you to see it.
I want you to see it and crave me.
I want you to ache for me as I ached for you for so long.
I want it to hurt, to twist your guts, to make you crazy.
Hurt, bad man, Hurt like you've never hurt before!

'Rat' -A Poet Wrote This One, Not Me

Ouch, She Said, There's A Sharp Object In My Heart; For Goodness' Sake Don't Turn It

I had dreams like that, each night, laid
Out like next day’s attire or the
Vapor trail of a headache that
Does not quit, vague recognition
Of something or of so and so,
Of tea and doubt in the morn and
Hell to pay for the luxury
Of unconsciousness. I have been
Upended by these dreams, by flights
Of fancy that had no grace or
Pilot, only self-stumble to
Day from night and back again, tired
And tired of, where I pocketed
Stars by dark that had burned escape
Holes without so much as a blink
Before dawn. What aches is knowing
I might have put them to good use.
I might have blazed trails or loved with
That light, I might have learned how to
Shine all by myself instead of
Through mirrors, I might have spelled out
In kind of sunbeam letters I
Am Special, then trusted it. I
Got ready for bed one last time
And I thought I could patch what was
Missing with imagination.
But if I find the holes again,
Sparking cometless tails streaking
Into ether, I know I will
Have to give up sleep entirely.

Monologues

We seem to send each other sets of monologues that never connect. You don't let them develop into conversations of meaningful intersection of thoughts or feelings. Just like shots in the dark, missing their targets, disconnecting lines that were drawn in the air.
I can't understand what would possibly be your reason to contact me this way. It doesn't make sense tome, I doubt you can make sense of it yourself. I am a sensible woman, you said so yourself. You must be a senseless man than.
Yet, last night I lay awake and thought a lovely love poem for you, in honour of the love I keep for you. I've forgotten most of it's lines, the one that remained is this:

You are the distant man I love.

Sunbathed in the dead of winter

Outside the bitter cold, inside it felt like lovemaking in the summer heat with the sunlight shining bright into our eyes.
Taking a breath on his bed, reflected in the mirror across the bed, the sun pours in through the large window on my skin, accentuates the lines of my back, everything so light except the black cuffs on my wrists, and my little exposed triangle. I lie there, and I answer his questions, what do the cuffs do for you, they make me more vulnerable i say.

I saw myself and knew how good I must look at that very moment, how beautiful I was then. But not enough for you.

Confessions

I love men. I love having sex with the ones I like. I no longer restrain myself from asking for what I want and need. I did that for many years, longer than I want to think.
Now I live like some men do - I take the sex I need, I love the ones I love and I tell them.
My passion is not easy to accept, I do not wish to contain it any longer.
It is a journey I take carefully, yet with abandon.

When I can't have the one I love, I take the ones I can. This is what I do. Do not judge me.

I sing this for you, silently

"Come To Me"

come to me
i'll take care of you
protect you
calm, calm down
you're exhausted
come lie down
you don't have to explain
i understand

you know
that i adore you
you know
that i love you
so don't make me say it
it would burst the bubble
break the charm

jump off
your building's on fire
i'll catch you
i'll catch you
destroy all that is keeping you down
and then i'll nurse you
i'll nurse you

come to me
i'll take care of you
you don't have to explain
i understand

When they can't listen, we're here

body talk‏

Early morning hours, my body warm from the night's sleep, held close against his slender body. When I'm alone I hold myself, I feel my skin wrapped around my bones, one hand rests on a hip, a palm on a breast, the nipple piercing it's center
I pretend my warm hands are yours