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—

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

You told me to stop letting my emotions run away from me. But how can I? Herding cats in the dark with one arm tied behind my back would be easier than controlling these feelings I have for you.

Burnt Toast

A wisp of smoke

in morning sun,

a slice of toast,

ignored, forgotten.

Left to burn—

its meaning lost,

the slow decay

of happiness,

from golden brown

to cinder black.

Not even honey

can take away

the bitter aftertaste.

When depression

is served up,

in bite-sized pieces.

A Slow Pirouette

You took my hand and made it yours. Guiding my fingers beneath the hem of your panties. Showing me exactly how you wanted to be touched—like a ballerina in the spotlight doing a slow pirouette.

Crazy

It was the fear

of losing you,

that drove me away—

I realize now

just how crazy

that sounds.

It was my insecurity,

my self-doubt,

that slowly trapped me—

like a straightjacket

tailor-made for one.

And not even

your undying love

could free me—

from myself.

Never Close Enough

There’s no denying we had chemistry and a strong desire to be together. Yet somehow you were never willing to make a commitment. Close but never close enough.

Like walking on a tightrope in high heels.

We Didn’t Fall in Love

We didn’t fall in love—

it was more like

the slow descent

of a feather

on a windless day.

A leaky tap

filling an ocean,

drip by drip.

Like our world

had forgotten

how to turn.

In a universe

high on morphine.

Happy New Year

Years may come and go but my love for you is a never-ending fireworks show.

Perhaps

The inability to be decisive—

to ponder love

with no conclusion,

to give hope

when all is hopeless,

there is no divide

more divisive.

Never Again

You asked me to give you a second chance and all you gave me back was a repeated mistake.

Unforgettable

I can still

remember when—

we carved our love

into the bark

of winter trees.

Your smile

never forgotten—

always found.

Wandering—

in the forest

of past lovers.

Black Rain

The pitter-patter

of droplets bleak,

no end in sight,

no grief complete—

this endless sorrow

of which I speak.

How Love Feels

A lull in the storm. The sparkle of sunshine held by the rain. This is how love feels. Just when you thought everything was lost.

Screaming Sex

Swirling smoke

from the last drag

on a dying joint.

You strike a pose

wearing black leather

crotchless panties.

Giving me—that look.

Doe-eyed innocence

meets bitten lip.

Beautifully perverse,

breathtaking—

a silent surrender.

Screaming sex

without saying

a single word.

Rebellious Spirit

Love is a rebellious spirit that doesn’t seek permission or ask for approval.

Unbreakable

Thrown sticks

and hurled stones,

all the fucking lies

and dirty tricks—

never let them

break you.

Inside Every Cherry

In matters of love it’s tempting to be picky. But never forget, inside every cherry, no matter how delicious—you’ll always find a stone.

The Eleventh First Date

“I do rather enjoy these random little drives into the country. How we always seem to find a quiet place to park. Far away from prying eyes,” Sophia said, quickly checking her lipstick in the rearview mirror.

“This spot looks perfect,” I replied.

Sophia pressed down on the brake pedal and slowly steered the white Bentley into the rest stop, which was surrounded by beautiful oak trees and overlooked a vista of rolling green fields.

“Yes this will do nicely,” she said, turning off the ignition.

I could already hear the excitement in her voice as she unclipped her seat belt and pulled up her gray pleated cotton skirt, revealing a pair of white panties and pale winter thighs.

“You know, this dirty little game of yours is quite mad and terribly kinky.”

“Oh, hush now,” she cooed, opening her legs a fraction wider on the tan leather seat. “Just pretend it’s our first date again and give my pussy a damn good fingering.”

—

The afternoon sun slowly slipped away behind the trees—leaving behind a dying sky of sunset orange and shadowy clouds.

“It’s such a crying shame we only get to live a single lifetime,” Sophia sighed.

I took her delicate hand in mine and pressed it to my lips. Softly kissing each finger. “Every second spent with you is a lifetime. Every hour—an eternity.”

I Want Your Love

I want your love—

every color

of the rainbow.

Every drop

of winter rain.

And when you

give it to me—

it will never

be enough.

Perfection

Perfection is a race that can never be won.

Riding the Subway

Lifeless verse—

written with a dead pen.

Black ink spilt

on a cold December,

riding the subway

in an endless loop.

Where lonely drunks

meet rejected lovers.

A swig of sorrow

inside every bottle,

but never enough

to dull the pain.

A brown paper bag

therapy session—

of shattered dreams

and broken hearts.

Priorities

Possessions are temporary. There are no storage units in the afterlife.

The Mad Princess

She wore a silver tiara

and white bikini,

dancing backward

across the sand.

In her palace—

only madness reigns.

This princess

doing somersaults,

chasing thunderbolts—

drinking champagne

in the rain.

The Hardest Goodbye

I knew I had to set you free. To put my feelings aside and let love slip through my fingers. It wasn’t easy. But if you try to keep hold of a butterfly—you run the risk of crushing it.

The Broom Closet

There was an almost surreal element to Serena’s sexual desires.

And tonight was no exception.

There were no scattered rose petals or tiny lit candles.

Just a trail of strawberry sherbet sprinkled down the hallway. Which I followed until I reached the end point—a broom closet. Where a pink postage note was stuck to the door with the words, Sex lives here, scribbled in green pen.

I took a deep breath and opened the door.

Serena was standing inside. Her naked body lit by a single lightbulb. I could see she had tipped the last remains of the sherbet over her pussy.

She flashed me a mischievous smile and said, “Lick it clean.”

Her words were not so much a request but a command. So I did as I was told. I knelt down on the wooden floorboards and roughly parted her pussy lips with my fingers. I began to lick and suck on her clitoris, feeling the tingle of the sherbet on my tongue.

Serena pressed her hips into my face and started to moan.

I kept up the rhythm, slow and steady, until I felt her hand tap my shoulder. It was the signal to stop and give her what she so desperately desired.

A good hard fucking.

Now it was my turn to be the boss.

I got up off my knees, stood up, and unbuckled my black leather belt. Threading it through the loops, one by one, until it was free.

Then I gently wrapped the belt around Serena’s neck. Slowly tightening the loop so that the buckle pressed down on her throat.

“Are you ready for your present?”

“Yes,” she replied, looking directly into my eyes.

I unzipped my fly and gave the belt a firm pull.

Serena gasped.

“I fucking love it!” she cried—her cheeks flushing red.

I forced my hard cock deep inside her tight pussy.

Serena bit down on her lip and began to moan loudly.

This just made me want to fuck her even harder. So I lifted Serena up into my arms and felt her legs grip my waist. Pressing her back hard against the wall, I started to slam my cock in and out of her wet pussy.

Sending us both into a sex-crazed frenzy.

Her tits slapping against my chest with every thrust of my cock.

The pleasure intense and uncontrollable.

I watched her pretty mouth slowly open.

The orgasm exploding between her legs.

—

We stood in the hallway.

Catching our breath.

Cum dripping down the inside of Serena’s thigh.

I removed the belt from her neck. Tracing the pink line left behind on her pale skin with my finger.

She placed her hands on my shoulders and stared into my eyes. “Do you know what you do to me? How you make me feel?”

“Glad that you married me?” I replied smiling.

Serena laughed. Pulling me closer and pressing her warm lips to my ear.

“Happy anniversary,” she whispered.

Change the World

Poetry can change your life, but don’t expect it to change the world. Only you have the power to take on that challenge. A poem can stir the heart, but it can’t cast a vote.

When Will I See You Again?

So many promises

wrapped up in excuses,

always tomorrow

but never today.

Turn Me On

Not a word is said. You turn me on with just your eyes. Fingers gripping my hard cock. My pleasure held in the palm of your hand.

Rage Against Love

Spare me your pity—

the worthless platitudes,

just let me rage

against love.

Set my heart free—

just leave me be,

to rip the stars

from the night sky,

while I scream—

go fuck yourself

to the moon.

Please—

pretty please,

just let me rage

against love.

The Two of Us

How easy the glass

slipped from our hands,

shattered shards—

the jagged truth

crystal clear,

left to sparkle

in the dullness.

All our energy

put into breaking—

what was already broken.

Risk Everything

How precarious the fine line between acceptance and rejection. Yet, here I am again—placing another bet on the table. Going all in. Willing to risk everything for a chance to win this stupid game we call love.

Awake

I became so obsessed with you, that I even convinced myself that you loved me.

Guilty Sex

Temptation comes—

a stage is set,

your lifted skirt

with panties wet,

the sweet allure

of guilty sex,

you giving head,

lips cherry red—

fucking in your

parents’ bed.

Sunshine in Raindrops

I could speak of your generosity of spirit—the sublime language spoken by your heart. But it is your laughter I miss the most. The rarest gift you ever gave me.

It Was the Night

It was the night—

when stars fell

from your lips.

My hands

on your hips,

pulling you closer.

Our parting wish—

to be forever,

held together

in a kiss.

The Explicit Request

You pushed me hard against the tree and slid your hand down the inside of my jeans.

“I know you respect me and that’s lovely,” you said kissing my lips. “However tonight, please spare me your polite words and gentle hands.”

I felt your slender fingers grasp my cock as you whispered into my ear.

“I don’t want you to fuck my pretty pussy—I want you to destroy it.”

Humility

Humility is the ability to celebrate a victory and not let your success defeat you.

Rejection

“Would you like to smoke this joint with me?”

Sophia had a habit of asking rhetorical questions. A well-practiced distraction technique she had perfected over the years, and one I couldn’t possibly resist. No matter how hard I tried.

“I really do need to get this book written,” I replied, hunched over my laptop at the kitchen table, trying my best to ignore her piercing gaze pointed in my direction. “I’m already two weeks past the publisher’s deadline, and my first manuscript was rejected.”

“Rejected? You never told me that,” Sophia said, twirling a lock of red hair with her fingers.

“It’s not the kind of news you go shouting from the rooftops. But it’s okay.”

Sophia sat down next to me and fired up the joint. Blowing a cloud of swirling smoke into the air. “I’d be beside myself if that happened to me. I have a real issue with rejection.”

“It used to bother me a lot too. Especially in terms of creativity. You pour your heart and soul into a project, spending countless days and nights perfecting it, only to have it dismissed on a whim.”

“Well, you seem remarkably calm about it all,” Sophia said smiling.

“Rejection is a learning curve and it took me a while to come to terms with it. Until I realized it was just a temporary setback and an opportunity to do something even better. Now when it happens to me, I think of myself as a tiny rubber ball. The harder I get hit—the faster I bounce back.”

“I love that! Honestly, you should be a philosopher not a poet,” she exclaimed enthusiastically, passing me the glowing joint.

I took a long hard drag and instantly felt the effects. “Fuck, this is strong stuff!”

Sophia burst out laughing. “Hey, I just thought of a title for your next book.”

“Really? What is it?” I asked.

“Self-Help for Stoners.”

Let It Go

Never let anger get the better of you. No matter how justified it might seem at the time, in hindsight, it seldom solves or changes anything for the better. Find the courage to forgive yourself, even if you can’t forgive them.

In Your Silence

In your silence—it is the essence of who you are, the kindness that defines your heart, that speaks to me the loudest.

Devotion

Every Sunday—

a sermon served,

in silk robes

and silver rings.

The gold plate

passed around—

collecting coins

from empty pockets.

Come Monday—

we work for

our daily bread.

Bought with sweat

and broken backs.

Praying—

for a miracle.

Far Too Late

The inexplicable,

in hindsight—

explained.

The opened gate

I tried to close—

far too late.

Can you hear

the echo of regret?

Bouncing

off the walls

of a heart—

broken.

Written by You

When I read the words you wrote, what really hurt me the most, was that they were written by you.

Second Helping

It was past 3 a.m. when Todd stumbled through the front door of the apartment and staggered into the bedroom. The familiar naughty boy grin plastered across his face as he rocked back and forth at the end of the bed. The stench of cheap liquor and stale cigarettes on his breath.

Sarah was sitting up in the bed, dressed in her favorite pink flannel dressing gown. She put down the cookbook she was reading and stared at Todd’s bloodshot eyes.

“I’m sorry, babe. Got caught up with the boys again and lost track of time,” he slurred.

“That’s okay. How about you get undressed and into bed. You must be exhausted,” Sarah said softly.

Todd flashed a crooked smirk as he collapsed onto the bed next to her like a sack of old rags. His head hitting the pillow. Eyes closing shut as he passed out.

Sarah hopped out of bed and took off his muddy shoes. She gently folded her half of the white comforter over him and left the bedroom, switching off the light on her way out.

It wasn’t the first time Sarah had been forced to sleep on the sofa. She pulled a blanket over her body, rested her head on a cushion, and stared up at the ceiling, listening in the dark to Todd’s thunderous snoring coming from the bedroom.

—

It was late in the morning and the sun was streaming through the kitchen window.

Sarah checked her watch and wandered over to the oven.

Peering through the glass door she could see the golden crust of the pie and knew it was ready. She reached for the oven gloves from the counter and put them on.

When the pie came out of the oven, Sarah eyed it with a satisfied smile. It was perfectly cooked and filled the entire ceramic baking dish. She placed it down on the stove top and reached up for a white dinner plate from the shelf.

“Ooh, my fucking head!”

Sarah heard Todd’s chesty moan coming from the bedroom, followed by a loud, rumbling fart. He was finally awake.

She neatly cut a generous slice of the pie and placed it on the plate with a spatula. She carried it quickly into the bedroom with a small bottle of water she had taken from the fridge.

Todd was still in his disheveled suit, greasy hair flopped over his forehead, trying to summon up the strength to crawl out of bed.

“I thought you might want breakfast in bed, sweetheart,” Sarah said, placing the plate down in front of him.

Todd reached over and snatched the bottle of water from her hand.

He unscrewed the cap and poured the water into his throat, gulping it down and throwing the empty bottle onto the carpet. He looked at the slice of pie sitting on the plate.

“Smells bloody marvelous,” he exclaimed, grinning.

“Let me go get you a knife and fork,” Sarah replied.

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