Toujours pour la premiére fois                                        

With someone else I might have had a child. He might have had one, too.               (I tuck the

We thumbed pages by candlelight, muttered weak attempts at words, assumed dramatis personae as tragic players stroking skin like a prop, fingers lingering at sides.

my mother presses me, pushes me, because she was taught to press a wound which bleeds, staunch the flow, she presses into my stomach, applies

The fan whimpers one final cry before it relinquishes the impossible task of keeping me cool. Lights flicker off and sticky air creeps through the

come apart everything we see reminds us of clouds once there was a tiny man who rode dragonflies but one day he grew wheels and

a boy would give me roses i hung upside down sterling silver     almost thornless sheathed in lavender tissue & bow in a week they

Facebook Mom My Lil’ Man she calls her dimpled darling in disposable diapers, pacifier stuffed in his mouth like a pig roasting on a spit.

such have been the vanities of our time we forgot the long walk and its debilitation we loved and thought once was enough we asked

I went looking for her where landscapes are painted in death. She told me once that if I couldn’t find her, I should look to

day break   day broke  on your face   i flicked moon crumbs  off your eyebrows   & watched your pupils  dew honey & malt

I used to sniff your scent, redolent of work, play, earth, sawdust, sunshine. I used to lick the spice of your sweat, an animal desire

Say we never went to the Dairy Queen, licked an ice cream cone on the concrete bench outside on a hot summer afternoon. Say you

Sensuality, Nose curves, to Cupid’s bow, to vulnerable expanses of skin over weaknesses. Pressing kisses to his neck, Floating in aquarium coral arrangements, euphoric,  

A long slim poem full of hyperbole & alliteration drifted into the wrong e-mail box. There she met an erudite rich text format file. They