the rain

it’s raining and i miss you.
i wish you knew how extraordinary a thing that is.

the rain talks to me
softest pit-pat of drops against the glass pane
a gang of cats jogging across hot summer pavement
too quick to count
slightly silent
save for the rhythm
a staccato in unison
what a paradox

but it’s singing to me
and i think of you
your voice
(sweet songs kissing my ears)
your words
(drowsy mumbled love notes late at night)
and echos of
your laughter
(the happiest of dreams)

it’s raining and my arms feel empty
(where are you)
my hands restless
(i need to touch you)
the gnawing ache in my stomach
(i am empty)

my body is in a frenzied disparate hunger
one which cannot be easily sated


i listen to the wind
whipping water
at my window
it’s you next to me
speaking to me
singing to me
whispering to me
instead of
the rain


The ones I loved
The ones I wanted
The ones I lusted

All could give a
flying fig
for me

a history of

chasing men
who had been
nothing but
back alley
beggar boys
sneakily dressed
in much
fancier clothing
(faintly squint)
a tiny bit
too large
for their

all whilst
my woman’s heart,
had remained
far more feeling,
and ravenous

And like dominoes

I kept queuing
them up

Each had
forming that tenuous line
of repeated
fowls and

the fickleness
of the foolish

a test of my

Until I
came to realize
this was
far more trouble
than it
was worth

weary sigh
head tilted
my finger gave
the smallest
to the very first


The quiet rhythmic


of each
falling into the


a flawless
a pile
of ivory rectangles
with no
discernible match

with care
and reverence

I placed each tenderly
within the case

This was a game
I no longer
cared to play.

I Haven’t Written In A While (A Love Poem For D)

Well, I have.
In my head.

But you don’t know this
Unless you could creep around
In the Squoosh
And Mush
Attempting to make sense
of the scattered bits
of mangled paragraphs
half-finished words
let alone
mismanaged punctuation.

Make your way through
my glow worm caves
dangling luminescent
pooling into the collective
which I will eventually
strain into something

But I’ve “written”.
There are essays
and strong opinions expressed vehemently
sharply jutting out
here and there.
Gardens of prose
jagged brambles
and the sickly sweet scent of dying lilies
making a mess…

The bees have been happier.

I suppose
I just wanted you to know
That I have been keeping up

And every thought of you
Incites inspiration

You make me want
to bring order
to the chaos
mend and organize
my fragmented parts
and pieces

I am
motivated to
light a trail
leading out of my darkness
the shards and
skin slicing edges
(though I can’t imagine
not getting a small cut
*bound to happen*
especially if you’re
walking barefoot)
so you can better make your way
deeper into my soul

There I can tend and tame
the prickly burrs
Not an easy task
Better for the bees
who will be keeping busy
with the new buds that have blossomed

Because of you.

For Daidria

“Your glance scatters seeds.
It planted a tree.
I talk
Because you shake its leaves.”

From Letter of Testimony Coda by Octavio Paz

The Russian

I woke up
after having seen you in my dream

I awoke
It was with such
A desire to
really have been so close to you
sitting there
across from your open face
your crooked
happy smile
those eyes
so very nearly

This wretched dream
I remembered
so much
You would leave a peck
on my cheek
while I slept
sprawled and tangled
in the sheets of your bed
Barely a stir
Consciousness piqued by the
smell of toast
and your favorite

stumbling out
into the shocking
one eye open

Your outline
but voice
And I hear you
gentle and



Those memories
brought to surface
by a ridiculous

What I’d give to have kept

Natalie O. 2009

I will savor the taste of your lips
as though it were my last meal
I will breathe you in
as though you were my final breath
I will set aside my doubts
as though I were once again a child
I will take you completely
as though I were the only one who could have you

I will do these things
for the smallest of favors from you

Your embrace
Your stroke
Your presence
Your touch …
to have it linger from the gentle speech of your fingers
the softest echo on my skin

And when you leave

I will wait
ever patient

For the complex richness of the beautiful simplicity
that lies in the way
you make me yours.

Hello, Bukowski

There has always been something about Charles – something vulnerably depraved. An acknowledgement of one’s own vices without the saccharine syrup dripping lightly upon the tongue, prettily disguising the sour taste of truth. I can’t help but love a man who is honest to and about his self. *sigh*

Found this while reading. I usually stick with posting my own poetic musings, but how I wish, some time ago, someone would have written this for me. 🙂

when God created love He didn’t help most
when God created dogs He didn’t help dogs
when God created plants that was average
when God created hate we had a standard utility
when God created me He created me
when God created the monkey He was asleep
when God created the giraffe He was drunk
when He created narcotics He was high
and when He created suicide He was low

when He created you lying in bed
He knew what He was doing
He was drunk and He was high
and He created the mountains and the sea and fire
at the same time

He made some mistakes
but when He created you lying in bed
He came all over His Blessed Universe.

8 Years Ago


I think perhaps there is more to this
Than just a quick illicit stolen kiss
Yet, still my nights are spent without you
Some other human taking your place

And while you lay in your woman’s arms
I lure any others with my own charms
Still, I’m longing to hold just you
Your beautiful body
Gift of grace

So with great patience goes another day
Losing the struggle to keep lust at bay
And I yearn for the touch of you
But mostly, just the sight of your face

You’ll never truly belong to me
I will most likely take my leave
Though my heart surrendered to you
Clarity is crisp
This is not my Place