Black River Water


Colors washed from the day run together;

river water darkens from green to black.

My mood, captured in the dimming sky light,

grey mixed with muted brown, is overcast.


Winter’s approaching brings with it sorrow

unshakable – even after these years

of tears, rants, and raves, followed by healing

wounds that break open with a touch of past.


Time spent wandering among trees, along

river bank and deserted beach, provides

respite – a path to remembering you.


And although we never walked along here;

I find you blended in muted color,

our love in the deep black river water.






You brought jewels for me
craddled in the fallen leaves
lit with morning sun




Cold as Frost
Frost paints pretty patterns on the windows,
ices over the world outside. Deeper
into covers and pillows, she burrows
to hide from memories, chase them away.
Counting calendar days is a habit;
ignoring mile-markers an effort.
This is the evening one came home; the day
one left. How quickly did he cross over
the edge of the line – to the other side?
None of the dates and times are recorded
anywhere save inside her heart and mind;
she can’t erase the pain, although she’s tried.
In the season of joy – forgiveness – hope,
sorrow settles around her, cold as frost.



For us, words have been both weapon and salve.
They’ve been tender strokes of passion and love;
served as tools of destruction and sorrow.
I cherish the former, mourn the latter. 

We used them to pledge – to hold and to have;
tossed them back and forth, dropped them from above
as bombs aimed at maiming, tried to borrow
time with them as if it did not matter
how the other felt at that moment. Lost
with deaf ears and broken hearts, our words fought
battles neither of us could win – the cost
too grand for either. If only we’d sought
each other, perhaps we would not be here –
oceans apart while still so very near.


Touch Me


Drizzle warmed oil between shoulder blades,

ease the tension with just your fingertips

along my spine – from the nape of my neck

to the small of my back. Caress the curves,

press the heat of your palms against my hips –

strip the strain of the day off my body

with each stroke, each slide of hand along thigh.

Feel the pull of desire between us,

and lost within ourselves –



Sensations unleashed – energies suppressed

too long beneath fear, release urgency.

Revel in flesh against flesh, illicit

pleasures too often ignored in this life –

laughter, desire, simple joy

– touch me.



© Siobhan


Passion’s Dichotomy

Wanting the blue lady in red, passion’s
dichotomy – half revealed, half hidden
behind the moon, not in the sun, always
alone inside herself; she is open
to possibilities, closed to
the pain of desire unshared, unspent
even as experience has taught her
to revel in want, take joy in being
together -or alone – she has issues
of trust, of love and lust, intimacy
never easily opened, once released,
flows freely from within her giving heart.

Coax this woman from her shell, paint her red
blush across her blue spread her with your love.

The Intimate Details 

I was never prepared

to give birth

not really

no one told me of the mess –

just ran down

the periphery of pain

reassurances of the joy

that follows; neglecting

the intimate details

that make up

the experience

I was exposed

to reality – twice

and swore – once

each time

having forgotten


what it was like;

remembering instead

the sensation of life

slipping from my body

small and fragile

Perhaps reason

would have been enough

to end the human race

if not for memories

of the life within

becoming the life without

the cradle of womb

emptied into the world

the mess

swallowing every intimate

detail of breath and joy