Tag Archives: sex


i can’t find comfort in stretched canvas the way i use to. i see how you catch pigments between a watering colour— i spill. it’s the only way we know beauty, yet we’re dying. “we’re dying,” i said. i said. … Continue reading

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Mist of Azure

there, you begin. between a foreign utterance, you compel. “your blue is just bleu,” and nothing else. notice the namesake; yet she is as metallic as they come. as she comes to you by smoke with the lush of her … Continue reading

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A coral coloured cast.

My knight, I’m going mad in the shadows that the palm trees cast. Cast. Cast.                                        Casted, they were, for a play. Asked, they were, to vibrate like foreplay in the shadows we held over head. We were drowning in saliva … Continue reading

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As Robyn

I live in brittle bones’ cage built of sage & his sibylline crystal– This flutter feels sinful. Pinched within weight, choke me by chain– We pulse by sweat beads beat in sweet ornate dew drooled over my chest.. His is … Continue reading

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as we dim

take me in bites. take me in bites. overwrite           me–           you are memory. teeth grind for florescence– i am white. no, i am errored. i am flushed for innocence: such rush feeds my senses until pure binary blackens this lives … Continue reading

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Two Lips

Falter me flattering. I’m pink, no, magenta in glorious harmony; wafting in sunset, I fly. Soar me, pour me– your weight drifts over me. Sunset me on beds of tulips tonight…

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prostituting avalanche

that foam spread over mounds, mountains of guilt wafted for the sake of clarity. there is more that can pass through such lips… i was reciprocating mutable charm to drip off my chin– but only on weekends. he obliged, promised … Continue reading

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Under Beds of Koi

Aim to pile this gallon nuzzled in rubber. Lips lie by a pucker at the rim of seeded glory, sprouting at flora scented of Beppu Springs. But springs don’t exist over beds of koi fish where drowning is acceptable; muzzled … Continue reading

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this requires chemistry

sequins misnomer the half way point with lips pressed between his joints where paisley candies like an ink-blot test; tie-dye versions of dirt rubbed on canvas. we are descriptions of gem… test my sanity in magnets so the friction of … Continue reading

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Nothing but the Stem

I painted him with six fingers for reasons I can’t confess. (It’s for the way oil chips off of glazed wood,   sanded between thighs…) I wish I never closed my eyes to his– the greenest. For his was the greediest … Continue reading

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