a letter from eros

love is unconditionally true,

as newborn eyes looking back at you

love is quiet, on a rainy day

when holding hands seems to braid colors
into the gray

love is patient, when voice is lost

strength in understanding at every cost

love is a fighter when battles concede

finding equal footing, a tug of war freed

love is clarity when sight is gone

a caress in the dark, curtains drawn

love is loud when tears ignite

a warrior in battle prepared to fight

love is years of day to day

yet living in that first hello
when your lover looks your way

love is simple yet so completely complicated too

as intricate as pieces of a puzzle,

as delicate as the morning dew

love is ageless, knows not of any bounds

worth growing old with

worth walking in the rain to

worth bravely speaking aloud

if love happens to kneel upon your door

greet it gently, sip it slow

for it knows already the way to your core

it need not bound you

no desire to proclaim

you’ll know when it finds you

no matter brief, no matter the refrain

for love is unconditionally true

beyond any scars, eyes that’ll find yours

to see that true you

Listen to me read A Letter from Eros


some days i am pretty

where my wild things seem to bloom

other days i chance the mirror to find

dead sea eyes staring back at me

some days i am a ghost

letting the world take hold and strangle me

other days i am a wolf, howling loudly

with every bit of surety

some days i am high heels

the ones with the red bottoms and straps

other days i am a thesaurus with my

glasses and writing pad

some days i am nature

a rainforest that lives and breathes

other days i am a concrete jungle

moving too fast to simply be

some days i am lonely

that pillow that waits for me to curl up in bed

other days i am a mountain

surrounded by birdsong and evergreen trees

some days i am passion

as my thighs spread beneath of him

other days i am that shy awkward girl

hiding my curves and every other insecurity

some days i am a photograph

a sepia static of time caught in rewind

other days i am the camera

living every kaleidoscope dream

some days i am a train

coasting in structured destination

other days i am messy hair dancing

with the wind

some days i am a unicorn

chasing rainbows bare-back

other days i am a list tacked on the wall

full of chores to be done

some days i am all of these

all of these sides of me

other days i’m just me, trying

just trying to be.

Art by Carlos Quevedo
I Like That – Janelle Monae


letters from the sky

open me slowly

with cursive tongue

tap into my bloodstream

with golden fingertips

and listen as it hums

to be carried away

in the fertile blue of night

be still

take your time

elevate with the colors

to braid with your mind

in fields of gold let fingers stroll

beneath oak gardens and trailing fescue

summon the pages

as they make love with the sun

Slow Motion – Sidewalks and Skeltons


when the clock stops moving and the earth is full
midnight’s swan bows to my pillow in bewitching invite

magick returns me,
letting down its hair
flirting in the onyx
rolling cross my tongue

patient lips float in slipstreams wake
a tapestry of chiffon
and unequivocal grace
undressing in the liquid of time
til dawn’s flicker of sun

Bloodstream – Stateless


the words take breath along her secret scroll

as moon gods sip soothingly upon a gorged soul

fermenting the chaos from a thousand eyes of day

til darkness hushes all, hearkening but one pair to stay

waning the tides of dark and of bright

battling there in eyes swelled in the stillness of night

trimming quite reluctantly unkept thoughts to the quick

burning burning burning down to midnight’s wick

all as moon gods unfold a heart’s silken stole

for words to take breath along her secret scroll



at horizon’s last dance
i clench the sun
with unfettered wings
in waning stance
no great rush to touch the void
too much ado adjoining burns
with such a choice subject to learn
each yearn shall find its voice in turn
in ethereal parade
cluttering the sky
the dreams and fears
of pilgrimages forlorn collide
whispers of elpis ride the night
betwixt petals and diamonds
as a coronation of jewels take flight
even when asleep
our lips be pursed
we’ll tell a tale bereft of verse

blue wind

weave me between the weeds of your sea
lapping slowly in the shallows of clover skinned pleas
let us babble in the salty brine
getting lost in the dawn
find our freedom amid the salamanders
get drunk on the blue wind
and find our way home


beneath our tree

where my lungs come back to me

for it is there

among borrowed ears

the cadence of you,

of i

falls freely

beneath blooming arms, those towering magic wands

those leaves, an artistic blend of hues

lent by the color of our words

birthed from our woes, our joys

now drip dropping in tiny doses

a repertoire of moments

gifts caressed from our swollen lips

beneath this our found sanctum

a secret place, a perfect hiding spot

where treasured scribing

and whispers in the wind

hold a love affair in soft reverie

infused within the veins of its hollow

beyond distances they traveled

weathered testaments of time

reaching for the sun

how they glow

how it flows



reflecting within

beneath our tree

where my lungs come back to me

Listen to me read Sanctum 


take my hand
follow the narcissus plea
to run wild in unkept forests
to stilled breath in gardens
beneath the trees

take my hand
in the union of water and earth
where lyrics that burn within
speak to giants, and wander into your dreams

Wild Geese: A Poem by Mary Oliver

You do not have to be good.

You do not have to walk on your knees

for a hundred miles through the desert repenting.

You only have to let the soft animal of your body

love what it loves.

Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.

Meanwhile the world goes on.

Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain

are moving across the landscapes,

over the prairies and the deep trees,

the mountains and the rivers.

Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,

are heading home again.

Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,

the world offers itself to your imagination,

calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting –

over and over announcing your place

in the family of things.

Listen to me read Wild Geese

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