Just enough to reveal the pale landscape of me. Continue reading “Minimal”


The first four months

She woke up to the sensation of his fingertips gently stroking her throat as she slept. His closeness bred both panic and comfort, a reaction that had kept them both on their toes throughout her recovery. She recoiled and paused, registering that it was only him, he looked at her in the half light of the early morning with patience and love. Continue reading “The first four months”


The open window lets the night in and it
hangs itself damply about the room.

Alert, lathered with sweat,

she is a caged animal,

feral with desire, marked for madness.

She turns and twists in the sodden sheets, heart enraged as her body suffers without him.
Dreaming in a far away language,

he wriggles as he wills her fingertips to

scorch him, one more time, make it last this time.

He hears his name, hot as fresh honey on her lips, his name again, rolling around in her mouth like a smooth stone. He wonders if this fever will ever break.

Winter is our season

Winter is our season, yours and mine.
Hardscrabble, tough won comforts,

words incubated in the dark.

Hope etched in ice.
I’ll step in your big footsteps in the snow,

single file along the riverbank

to hear your voice rasp

and cloud the cold air.

Love under great cedars
Slivered moon,

fast icy water.

Mittened hands clasped,


calling back to the wolves,

fighting tears and memories,

tempting fate.


I don’t realize how heavy my sigh is, how slumped my shoulders are. It’s been a long week and I’m grateful to not have plans on a Friday night, glad to be in pajamas at 7pm with my feet tucked under his thighs, curled into the couch, idly scrolling through photos on my phone. I’m comfortable but I’m not content; I’m restless and it’s showing.

Whats the matter? His voice is generous, he sets down his phone and puts his hand on my thigh. I meet his eyes. Nothing’s wrong, just a long week. His fingers knead my thigh and he watches me for a moment. What do you need? I look down, blushing, knowing what he means, what he’s making me say. Continue reading “Begging”

You smell like sugar, you taste like sin

And then, as if no time had been lost, there they were.

Brow to brow, breathless, fingertips on fire, flanks rippling with anticipation of touch, each weeping, though neither from their eyes, forming an unseen haze of desire in the air between them.

Nostalgia and imagination swirled from their hushed lips:

You smell like sugar
You feel like heaven

Soft smiles and burning eyes, their resistance wearing thin. Risk, reward, adventure, pain, endless wanting, reckless waiting.

You feel like home
You taste like sin