In the past, the apocalypses were green:

the flood of sea glass, the influx of asparagus.

Everyone could only do everything

and hope for some strange miracle:

a spring drought, maybe rubber shoes.

Nothing was pointless, but within glass boxes,

any action felt meaningless—where

was the applause in rising from bed?

Where were the standing ovations

after successfully scrambling eggs?

Math came back in bolts: each attack

a new equation no one remembered how to solve,

besides the scientists, who were locked up

in caverns with bats in their hair.

The rulers they bent started screaming.

The gloves they wore began to cry.

The beakers they filled turned purple

with pride. At least they knew how to be contained.

I've inhaled the breath

you shared and cut

a trail...

of common sense

in this moment

of self defense.

#arecipefor... #challenge

he said, you light them up.

you dream about touching

him. crumpling his sleeves like

sandpaper. sand

falls across the bed like

his body. which is folding, folding;

you love it unbelievably.

coming home and finding

the door unlocked. you press

into the latch, heart like

shoreline. pounding, pounding;

the rain that is his mouth, his hands

under this night-black

sweater that is too small.

he pulls it up over your head and

breathes more. a little more

than you know he meant to.

what else you know — you never

left home after all.

white noise, sunlight

at the edge of the windowframe,

shrinking back when he

rounds the corner from

halls that also recoil, refrain.

and do not stop him

as he comes to pull your

heaving heart out from in between

your thighs. shaking, shaking;

like being birthed again.

you hold back the evening tide

which is gripping the coast,

struggling against a desire

to rush back out to sea, where all

there is of heartbreak

is waiting, collecting like

silt. of all the windows you might

have touched your tongue to,

this is what opened.

he parts you, parses you, never

locks the door as he leaves.

you came back with roses

and he was holding a pillowcase,

fluttering against the

fan’s oscillating face.

he turns, a little like domesticity,

starts talking about the sun,

how it rose

when you walked in. he takes

the roses. breathes.

We like to define

our existence

as a line

a rope...

from which 

we hang

all hope

...in rewind

or advance

of our time...

What my dears

has become

of the year’s

...experience...

came like a train

and we are

ridden on

hoisted like

Venetian blinds

mile markers

smile at our

wane reflections

in the dark

window frame

of passerbys...

our fleeting

happiness

disguised

in the rain

of falling

yesterdays...

I know not when

this calendar

entered 

svelte

through

the holy curtain

nor where it went

redacted 

... like a page

in our lives 

was flipped

though here

I sit...

in encore

still...

waiting 

for it

#OldNew #Years #Challenge

in night i lie

wrestling with the dark, which

falls by force; if

i could write it. it feels

like an impression of grief,

texture dappled under

wax on white paper.

so touch it. i wish time was

fluid, faster than

the dash of rain on

windowsills. go back and

be like it to me.

only if i can ask you.

why does love come bearing

a past like deadweight.

why. am i lain flat

in an empty dark, praying

against myself. and time,

if it came gradually.

what is what i was to want

if water tasted like this,

foreshadowing moon passing

over sun like your hands. which

i wanted to hold so much.

more than this feeling.

stars whisper. metaphors that

refer just to night,

as i lie, body in collapse,

the sound of streetlights fading,

crumpling. and you forget.

i know you forget. i am

discussing it in the present tense

and disregarding

what voids exist inside me.

you show your heart in eclipses,

shutter-flash arrhythmias;

do you see me. i finally

find my way back into bed with

hands that are colder than

any way the sky falls.

the window shows in squares of

light, and you are

touching them. and not me.

Danger was her name

passion was her game.

Her nights were like grand hotels

where the rooms

were always available

to the men she loved

and loved well.

Drips of passion awakening lust

moist mouths and pink tongues

fingers touching, bodies wet

entwined like twisted ropes

of lustful body parts and pieces

no beginning, no end, everlasting.

The greed, the thirst, the yearning

the price was never too much

gifts freely given for her beauty.

But the cost they would pay

unbeknownst to feckless men

was the loss of their lives

for when she was through

she smiled as she bit

with pearly white teeth

necks offered in fervor

carotid artery exposed.

Blood flowed on sheets

and once again

her rooms

were always available.

Blood sparkles in water

a permanent reflection

of death (life) opening within

my obsidian eyes.

Can’t see life (death) blinking

as sun chaperones darkness

silent serenity of death (life).

Tangled life (death) strings soak

in the awakening light

but all I can see

is life (death) flickering

and going out in the night.

Shadows crawl over my soul

searching for new offering

illuminated by crying crows –

mournful memories of

sad serenades of

short harmonies

of death (life).

Sunlit afternoon foretells

echoes of death (life) song

fog of life (death) walks down

congealed road.

I

Love

Reading

Your

Eyes

As

They

Undress

My

Intimate

Thoughts

Bringing

My

Heart

To

Euphoric

Pleasures

K.j.a. (c) 2018

She begs him to touch her name

with warm heart and whisper shadows,

looking deeply within her perceptions,

seeing the beauty deep inside,

skin confining his heart snugly,

melting like a sultry candle

dripping through her soul,

immersed drops of heated wax.

She dances with full abandon -

happy spinning and prancing,

unconditional love as she

shapes her face into joy,

watching the sunset falling

from her sight, wanting to

fasten the sun to her heart,

capturing dusk of love’s light.

But, he prepared to sneak away

as he sensed the emotions rising

in the dawn of sunrise, brushing

cobwebs of his resolve, hiding

in the shadows of sexual love

memories of hot sensual touching

promises of forever in passion heat

sense of fingers exciting and arousing

as she moistened his lips with her tongue

an explosion, a crescendo, unending lust -

but he wanted to be free in the morning

slinging getaway bag over his shoulder

a train riding the rails out of town

with him as sole passenger.

While she stands alone at the station,

commitment chugs off out of sight.

But she fears no more the heat of sun

joy awakened so she can go on without him,

future unfolding artistry of new blooms.

Let me paint you

bathed in morning light

peach tints

pockets of my heart

cradled in azure symphony

of misty waterfalls

light blue of tears

sparkling jaded shadows

audacity of rose petals

cushioned in

room full of peaches

a vivid lavender sky

flashing amethyst shades

the pomegranate euphoria

of mango mornings

pina colada skies

over teal seas

and shell flecked

white seas

vanilla frothed

footprints

leading to me

shades of

wine sunsets

all reflections

of the feelings

I have for you

love of my life.