The Ninth

This body, a river splitting deep woods,a rushing babble over rounded pebbles.The doe lowering her head, takes drink,arching sinuous neck that reflects in ripple water.That neck in memory, fevered dreams -arching back and forth, hair whipping.Your knees bent alongside rising hips,this river splitting your fragrant wood.

On Ragged Mountain

There's a luxury - a pleasure really, it's that more not like the joy of an avocado (not to dismiss that joy, sliding along the skin, opening the ripe fruit to eager hands, fingers sliding into flesh to scoop and taste and slip along the tongue) No, not that but the ecstasy of the familiar, … Continue reading On Ragged Mountain