maybe you’re too kind…or cruel

once I thought you found me

thought that you came and saw me from a distance

is is true…did you see me

is it why you never said a word that day?

that night?

the next day?

the months after?

quietly  you slipped away

but for the storm that raged in my heart

as if you only existed to kill me

acting like you never knew me…as if I am nothing to fight for

You must have been embarrased for me and couldnt bear to tell me

that disppoinment came from seeing my silouette and begged you to run

what must your version be

I wait for that moment

the moment for your gaze to find me

just mere steps away

will I be able to breathe…

will you regret it…


how life desires….

I am softer shades of dark

this threaded light exists

I don’t have to imagine any more

I feel you so clearly

a shadow dancing upon the waters

there was always a beating resonance

a whisperend wind rippling the stillness

I have been swimming towards you

I am almost there

your shoreline shimmering…

are you exiting or entering

my depths


a willingness to burn…

I cannot think of much that is better

than sitting here in the quiet,

delicate winter sun streaming across my skin

the steaming rising fom my coffee

dancing with the light

A new day

A new year

A new beginning

I whisper as I smile through my tears

I can feel the tug of dry winter skin across my cheek

winter is so very harsh on me…

I feel the old me wanting to erupt

the darkest part waiting to slip into familiarity

to drive me into non existence, the kind that maps your brain

enticing me to disappear, it to stay forever hidden, hibernate…

I bear this darkness because the light of hope

resides somewhere deep down inside me

I feel the warmth in the distance

a weak winter sun still warms my heart

if only for a moment

I sit here burned by cold silence and mourning my love

yet, still I am wiser, more awakened, softer

my heart so sensually dark and wildly golden

my feminine moon and masculine sun intertwined

I have plunged and risen from fire a thousand times

and yet I crave to be tinder once more,

again and again

this willingness to burn

for I am ever beauty from ashes

becoming my beloved’s



I sit here on the  last night of the year

a summer storm of words flitter across my mind

I have been silent in the hours of days for months now

and I suppose more dark moons are to come

winter lingers here

its cold, icy grip pressed around my throat

I can not swallow

I dare not speak of the quiet

pained heavy against my breast

I end this year as it started…





I wish I were everything

these words I write spoke of

to ease undying strain

obliterate every hurting thought


I wish I were everything

to become what I write…like


cloaked in sensuousness

slipped into drive

 feel every splendor

 only fulfilled together in our hours

  to be tucked home

soothing years of subtle aches


like silk thread binding skin


I wish I were everything

like all these words I hold

 and what you would have me become

if attention never fled


If I was more than

and nothing like

your unwritten words

nor everything of every word

your silence speaks



never be erased…

I think I love this quieter place

here in the tiny corner

I let fall whatever may,

leaving all my words piled


Little does this heart move from a sleepy little read

People caught in their particular webs

only ever anxious deep in their own need

I don’t amount much to them

 they turn so unwilling 

I undress my bare skin though

lay here exposed to elements

feeling a luminescence

 a cold glow pulsing

S. O. S

yet only ever unheard

 and served silence

echoing of weeping sorrow

no one feels me as in want & overwhelmed

so much I have lost

so much I have been given

yet never what I yearn 

am I only meant to be patient 

for that which is dreamy

n’er to come

I think I don’t know anything anymore

but a tiredness and an aloneness

shouldn’t I matter to someone 

shouldn’t I never be erased

only ever countless…

I never realized how sacred this process would become to my inner most being. Writing has created me, saved me, destroyed me. It is alchemical, a ritual, a sensual experience…finding a way to put me back together. I am ever misaligned and symmetrical by the places it draws me to and drags me from. I have found a voice, a resting place, a dark hole and a new universe…sometimes I am so weak, my heart barely lifts and opens. So deeply I morn and gently hold love. Rich in longing and desire, bathed in painfully beautiful moments, only to peel back layers of heart ache, clean the wreckage, repair tears, mend cracks. I am split and woven in my years, beyond there, and desperately here, awakened, yet lived. I am found in parts, sated and wild, beautifully spilling my mind, my heart, my soul…I burn too, palmfuls of ash and stars. Should I, could I, be anything less and yet, remain in this space? Have you come only to become gone? Am I more than any realize, more than what any have reduced in me, more than any have explored or care to? Does anyone even know me, care to? Countless, my wondering…ever, my waiting