Dedication

For Lang,

In your eyes I see myself. I see the love
we never thought was possible.

Cult of Two

Introduction

Cult of Two is my fifth book, but it feels a lot like my first.

For those of you who are familiar with my work, don’t be surprised if you discover the ghost of Dirty Pretty Things hiding somewhere within the pages.

In fact, I should warn you now—this book is fucking haunted.

Things may go bump in the night when you read it.

The words are dripping with magic and mischief. So please be careful not to let this rather strange book possess you. Like it did me, writing it.

Red roses and broken hearts.

My gift to you.

On this cold winter’s night.

All my love,

— Michael xo

I Am the Girl

In the quiet times—

when I think about my life,

you come to me,

banging pots and pans

inside my head,

your voice screaming—

I am the girl

you’ll never forget.

A Certain Something

You had a certain something about you. A strange, brooding darkness that was incredibly sexy and somewhat impossible to ignore. Whenever you smiled, it was like the sun breaking through the storm.

The Last Days of Summer

Perhaps it was the rhythmic chant of cicadas that lulled me into this calm state of being. The last days of summer—in all its glorious sunsets and fading colors. Nature’s delightful, intoxicating, narcotic. Freeing my mind from the chaos of simply breathing.

A Midnight Call

Be careful—

someone might be listening.

I can almost hear

that rebellious smile

in your silent reply.

The one you wear

so well on rosy lips.

Your hushed moans

begin again,

becoming louder.

Pretty mouth—

pressed up against

the hotel phone.

Love Defined

Burn all the dictionaries, tear up the tired metaphors, and tell the poets to go to hell. For you are the true definition of love. The only one I shall ever need.

Only You Could Write

A wave explodes—

the slow rumble

of thunder,

swirling sand

and seaweed.

A paperback novel—

resting on a bed

of broken seashells,

the pages open—

a sentence underlined

in pencil gray.

You kiss me—

the scent of weed

lingering on lips,

only you could

write a sunset

this beautiful.

Holding hands

beneath tangerine skies,

a sea of rolling fire

and flying fish,

a daydream made real—

in the shutter click

of an eyelid.

Sticky Tape

My fingers pull

clear sticky tape

from nipples,

just as you orgasm—

how exquisite

the pleasure found,

in so little pain.

Our First Breath

When we enter this world,

knowing nothing of life,

how ironic—

our first breath

begins with tears.

How Strange

How strange these late nights—dreaming of sleep. Listening to the owls sing and thinking about you.

Daffodils

My obsession for you—

black ribbons untied

in a cheap airport motel.

The scent of sex

still clinging to your legs.

Eyes mesmerized,

spellbound—