Tag Archives: fiction

Incorporeal

I want to wake up with your handprint on my hip and your perfume in my hair. I want to be haunted by your touch. Every breath of wind could be an unexpected caress: phantom kisses against my skin.


Loss

Sometimes, we forget our words. Sometimes, we don’t remember how to mourn. Silence stands between us, a leviathan of unspoken grief. We linger in its shadow, waiting for the delicate whisper of rain.


Little Pink Riding Hood

It’s raining outside- that heavy Chicago late-summer rain that ruins shirts and hairdos, knocks down branches and floods gutters and sewers. Continue reading

Don’t think twice

I promised to let you leave gracefully. You promised not to look back.

One of us lied.

Your footsteps kicked up dust in the yard. I followed you out, my fingers catching at your sleeve.

I will leave the door open for you. I will leave the porch light on.


Mistress

My lover leaves her name outside my door
when evening gives us leisure to explore
the sounds between the silences, the stark
divide, the interplay of light and dark,
each night more daring than the night before.

And when I cannot tally anymore
the whispered count, the reckoning of scores,
I catalogue each kiss and every mark
my lover leaves.

At last she fetches wine and bids me pour;
she offers me her cup: one sip, no more.
And having kindled flame from love’s last spark
before the jaded warning of the lark,
my sheets like moonlight cast upon the floor,
my lover leaves.


I’m catching up on unfinished projects. This is a rondeau, which was the subject of yeah write’s May 2016 poetry slam.