Empty Sex Pt 1

In a carnal crash of two
eyes glazed
heated in sexual need.
We sought our delicious counter.

I approached you,
bearing words of no weight.
You were smiling, cheeks rosed,
eyes coyly flitting away.

Upheld by the bar and it medicines,
we back and forth, exchanged air,
hoping for a bold gale,
so we may sail afar.

And so,
surrounded by shoes fitting another,
in your bed,  I wake.
An explorer of every pleasure’s niche,
my right arm humming, unconscious
from a precarious night’s pose.

We sip tea, and a second one too,
laying again exposed,
as we flick questions, discovering
passions and pursuits .

Clothed now in Hampstead, we part,
returning to our lives before this past morning,
our gaze locked, gasping reunion.

You Are Not My Friend

Enveloped in cotton I fidget
revolving in my sheets,
stabs of light piercing the venetian blinds.
Bemused by last night’s journey home.

My core nauseous
from spent pleasure
and shame
from the night before.

I was there,
in full force.
Regaling unfamiliar ears
with the same stories.

Continue reading

This Friday -As The Last

My eyes flee to all corners of my four walled hold,
liberation grasped through windows, stolen back.
Back to the luminescent glare of my old HP;
as I acquiesce to my paid servitude.

The week’s edge nears as time retreats,
the seconds absconding -drawing You ever closer.
Closer still, the embracing thoughts of Sunday’s sheets,
enveloping me –warm, contented, in your arms.

Do you love me now?

One day you’ll love me when my name is known,
but for now you’ll see my soul emptied in my phone.
Asleep on the tube or awake at night in bed,
my thoughts pour fleeing from my chest to my head.
My heart purges thick oil from my core -it’s a start,
I pine for irreality and for the darkness’ depart.
I sign away joyous secrets and lamentful decisions,
avoiding your judgment to make an incision.
To your eyes open I’m paused -pregnant in wait,
for you to render me love’s stark fate.
With my name atop poems you’ll see and you’ll know,
to love me cause I’m playing on the radio.
I’ve signed faux-names to truths in futile admission,
for one day you’ll know me and release me from my prison.