searching for answers.

Do daffodils cry

when the sun is shining?

It’s the Little Things

It’s the little things I love the most. The beauty found in the mundane. Strawberry jam and toast crumbs—a morning kiss.

Chopping Onions

Chopping onions

on a Wednesday night—

how strange the things

we remember,

when our world

is falling apart,

disintegrating—

in slow motion.

I’m not sure

who cried the most,

impossible to tell

when tears hide

behind tears.

Not that it matters,

when a bottle

is empty,

the wine finished—

and so are we.

You and Me

You once told me that the shortest distance between two points is a straight line. Unfortunately the same can’t be said for finding love.

I Had No Idea

A light rain shower

in bright sunshine—

that’s how you

hid your sadness,

my eyes blinded

by your smile,

mistaking the tears

for happiness.

A Secret Place

I can take you to a secret place, somewhere not far from here, where the desert stars sing lullabies to the brokenhearted.

After the Party

A sweet hint

of summer strawberries,

on glistening lips

stained sticky red.

Our first kiss—

under a waning moon,

adrift in a sea

of silent black.

A bra strap falls,

breathy notes

by fingers played—

on blades of green

beneath twisted trees.

A whisper of silk

on midnight thigh,

as panties drop

with gentle sigh.

Never Us

It was always about you. Seldom me. And never us.

You Moved On

You moved on—

before the dust could settle.

So fast—

not even a single strand

of silver cobweb

was left behind

to hold on to.

No spider could spin

a web that quickly.

All the Time I Possess

All the time I possess, from milliseconds to hours, blessed days to precious years—I give it all to you.

To Be in Love

Dappled sunlight

slowly dancing

on goose-bumped

winter skin.

A dawn begins

for naked bodies,

a mad dash—

from silver sand

to waiting sea.

How glorious it is

to be in love,

to be young—

to be free.

In Love with Words

I’m not just in love with words, I’m possessed by them. My life consumed by the twenty-six letters of the alphabet and all the countless possibilities they bring to a page. How beautiful this world of dust and cobwebs. Where the pen is mightier than the vacuum cleaner.

Fingers Burnt

A bad relationship can be defined by the striking of a match. The longer you hold on to it, the greater the likelihood of getting your fingers burnt.

Look at Me

“Look at me,” you cry—

a hand between

your legs.

Hardcore masturbation

in all its primal glory.

A hips rising,

eyes closing,

mouth opening,

toes curling—

private show

for one.

Herding Cats