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Maneki-neko.

Monterrey.

You like that, begging, pleading, spreading out for your display. Makes me think of Monterrey. Me pressed against a cold glass pane, asking over and over and over for you to finish with me. My thighs propped up and tired while you clench fully my throat from each side, me becoming your mold and shape, you knowing where to hold in order for me to still breathe. You command, “Don’t move, ma.

Mustafa مصطفى...

Mustafa مصطفى… Where are you. Are you there, Somewhere, In the dense forest green. Beautiful stranger, How do you say such things, Then disappear, leave, After quoting Rumi. You open up, Then gone, No trace. Your most tender thoughts, Following along. My heart is open, But together, glued. A spirit in touch and now, Removed. Please know, You leaving, It devastates. You didn’t hear me, Calling out to you, Were my words,

My African daisy.

The shape of your petals, Invite me for a talk. A kind love, just for you. I cannot turn back. You are extraordinary, Radiating even within the dark. In indigo, Shining under a blue desert moon. Burnt orange, Glowing from inside of you. If only a moment to be with you, Just to admire you, And your sunshine, And to feel, That happy side of blue. You make me smile,

My Babadook.

Underneath, you walk. A creak under old foundation, you, caressing my feet, your favorite part. Old roots massaging the diagonal planks by herringbone pattern of hickory bark. You are far in distance, my Babadook, out of reach. To physically touch you is dark magic, black cat luck. You will stay right there, rest, my temperamental love. My misty eyes are only meant for me to watch. Today to say a goodbye, then, the sprawling of branches scraping three window panes, across, in a line, one by one, down a dim, lit hall, dragging, scratching, breathing, piercing my ears, that nagging silence between each pause.

My fall.

My fall, soon you will arrive, No sadness, colors vibrant, bright. Red, copper, orange, I do not mourn. The red I feel is, Orange’s energy. The grey, makes me happy, When thinking of your, Moody thoughts and stories. Lights flickering from houses, I feel not alone, though, They do not know, Looking out windows, Muted screams, cellos… What you are about to do, While holding me so close, With your unbroken stare,

My Universe.

My Universe, Gentle I will be. Unless you need a storm, A hurricane to form, Whisper it to me in the breeze, Between dusk and trees. I will adjust, my King, Always to temper, All your wants and needs. After splitting my thighs a part, Allow me. Under your moody sky, In twilight dreams, to sleep, To breathe, freely, Without your grasp, As tight of a hold. And peaceful breath,

Mysore Palace ಮೈಸೂರು ಅರಮನೆ (I of II).

Mysore Palace ಮೈಸೂರು ಅರಮನೆ (II of II).

Naked in black and white.

I bloom in color, and, I blend into this world, Black and white. You touch my petals, but, Do not see, My vibrant yellow light. I am warm and full. You say, “I love you, Naked in the sunlight, but, A dark shadow, All over you, Is the mood I am in tonight.” Between Jerusalem and Mexico series, a taboo love. … Visit Archive and About for more content and author details.

Night in a port city.

Noise.

I love you the same as noise, quivering in a pattern of soft sounds. Then you intensify, in a vibration, coming on dark, moody and strong. Unique, the nights I look forward to, knowing the man you are… Furious, in love, and devoted to knowing you and me in all our naked forms. An understanding one seeks through a pilgrimage to Mecca, Guadalupe or Lumbini, and the Temple of Solomon.

Penelope.

I understand, Penelope. I, too, am equally interested in my own shadow while walking sometimes.