...til Saturday

Saturday died on a Thursday night.

Friday Morning rubbed the dream

like sleep from

her eyes.

How will she make it to Sunday?




I hate Thursday nights.

Fall Back

As I stir I still feel the ache you left me with.
Every touch from you
leaves a wound,
a brokenness I cannot hide.
My eyes burn with sweat and tears.
I tremble as I rise up
damp and breathless
wanting you,
but your there and I’m here.
It’s too soon to tell
and it’s too dark,
much to dark to see.
So I will come to you
when the voyeuristic sun opens her eyes.
I’ll transverse your chiseled features.
Caressing your precipice
while you undulate
beneath me.
And I’ll grasp for your ever changing form
hidden beneath the beauty
of the colors of death
where you remind me the limits
are not mine~


but yours.