Latest Posts

Morning Tide

Morning Tide

Sunlight streams through widely drawn curtains

and falls on your face,

exposed between bedsheets.

I sit on the window sill, pressed against the glass,

six stories above

South Eutaw Street.

Your eyes blink twice

beneath long lashed lids.

You close your arms around me

even when I’m not there.

Half empty bottles of green gatorade

and a bitter stained cup of McCafe joe

decorate the night stand

from last night’s done deed.

Forgotten lacy things and all of your clothes

and remnants of candy colored condom wrappers

litter the carpeted hotel floor.

I walk among the wreckage like one treads in the ocean

stripped to the skin, my flaws are unsheltered.

I creep a bit closer and crouch beside the bed

and touch the life force that moves in your neck,

and all at once I’m flooded with how it felt

to be submerged with you

for the very first time,

twenty thousand leagues under a starlit city sky

making waves of our own in a king sized bed

as the ripples drifted slowly

around us.

I Learned How to Jump in Puerto Rico

I Learned How to Jump in Puerto Rico

Missing My Father, in Five Stages.

Missing My Father, in Five Stages.