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Pigeon photobomb.

Pink mood.

Pink petal stem.

My pink petal stem, Surrounded in dew. A violet, dark night, I succumb to around me, With white twinkle lights, Dancing around me. I blush for you. Between Jerusalem and Mexico, a taboo love.

Pink petals from concrete.

Pink petals are soft, Grow from a concrete jungle, I touch you and smile. Love poems and solitude.

Port city.

Pumpkin graveyard.

Pumpkin graveyard born. Indigo sky hides in dark, Mood, my blades, and green. Love poems and solitude.

Purple mood.

Purrs.

I’m trying to write a romance, With a cat nuzzled by my side. He really isn’t much help, This cat, With any storylines. He comforts me, Sleeping affixed. After scheming, To be next, To my left hip. He probably wonders why, These humans are, So… Hot and bothered, Vexed, Turmoiled. His head cocked in one direction, “Aren’t I enough of a love story?” From a feline, Whose existence, He thinks,

Rain.

You drive off, into the rain, Knowing, The rearview will be, The last time you see me. This is the only time, again, We say goodbye. The goodbye, That is forever again, Because you break us, Somewhere inside. I know you are sad. Same, Inside my heart, Too. The part, Dividing me, Between him, And you. I know now, That when goodbye, Is said, To hold a breath, Between, That last word,

Romanced by the South.

I am romanced by the South. Where the South Carolina peaches are juicy and the sweet tea overflows. Where a gentleman’s hospitality is in abundance, like, Moses parting the Red Sea whenever a lady approaches any door, from the left side, the right side, and down the middle. Where lyrics about his dog running away and his woman coming back are heartfelt, and heard through every speaker. And where a little green gecko has stolen my heart.

Rooftop naps.

Life of a city cat. Naps on the rooftop, with the breeze passing between row homes and buildings, and mama close. A cat’s love.

Rose red.

My unfurl in sun, Your stem a jagged thick thorn. Rose red open full. Between Jerusalem and Mexico, a taboo love. … Visit archive for more writings and photographs.

Sailboat in noir.

Sailboat in sepia.

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Sand.

Blue to the line drawn by sand, I’m drifting in Stevie Nicks’ contralto, wrapped in oblivion. You are pleasure, Sky. Your arrangement, bright to midnight, with sun setting to darkness all over me in amber orange. Dunes brush soft, my toes. You, heavy and warm across me, touching sun-kissed skin where the water stops, and you take hold. Your tight space, Me between, Ocean, And you, You, Swallowing me, Whole.