sensual saturdays

unzip my dress and

let your fingertips trail down my body

imprint every inch of me with

urgent desire

uncover the places that gift shivers

and with your lips suck the mundane out of my skin

let me show you passion is more than

short breaths and desperate hands

passion is how my eyes memorize the

fire in yours as I take you in

I settle into the pleasure, I sip it in slowly

and soak in the feel of our bodies dancing together in the dark

I don’t need you to take me to the edge of who I am.

I don’t need you to make me forget my name.

I need you to meet me here, in my power and at my center

without any expectation of where this thirst will take us

and who we’ll be and what it will look like

when we get there.

when we merge.

within reach

he drags his feet a little

when he has to leave me

in bed without his body

he’s not desperate for love

like a dog

but the thirst is still there

hiding beneath the surface

out of plain sight and still

only a reaching hand



We sweat out the sheets

lose our breath trying to keep up with passion

misplace fingertips to find places that

gift shivers down the spine

and lend lips to the other in an

offering of pleasure.


This bed is our temple

where we call out to God

with eyes closed

in the hope that we

can stay in this heaven



just a boy

I’ve always been a fan of the fixer uppers,
maybe because for a while there
I thought of myself as one, or maybe
I was so broken that I thought I deserved the same,
some more jagged sharp edges to pierce my center,
another critical mind to judge me harshly,
or maybe I was just as shallow
in my simplistic demands for passion,
maybe just as dumb to think I could keep
fire separate from warmth;
hands separate from love…
a line drawn in the middle with an incredulous finger
when it became obvious he had no heart to gift back.

was that really a choice or just me giving in?

Now he calls me a girl
as if he hadn’t yet met the woman I’ve become
and I call him a boy
because that’s exactly
who he is.


Woke up and felt like writing

Was just sitting here,


By thoughts and love notes

Scribbled on notepad paper

During work, while riding on public transportation…


What makes you want to breathe?

And then,

Breathe again?

If you’re passionate for what you do,

How did this passion begin?

And can you help me spark mine?


Positive to a fault

I’ll never say I’ve hit rock bottom

But I have nothing left to lose

All that’s left to do is choose

The path my life will take next


So what makes you want to breathe?

And then,

Breathe again?

Because sometimes

I just want to exhale it all out

And call it a day,

Forget of the wasted time

and all my tragic mistakes


Finally following my heart

But I’m without compus

Unsure of where I’m going

Or where I’ll end up;

But if I could find a passion,

My life’s oxygen

I’d no longer have to fear

Running out of the desire to breathe

And then,

Breathe again

Without a final exhale

Without settling

for a mediocre,


sort of life.