Her Past

Her past sits firmly behind her; it is
untouchable and irrefutable
– it exists. She doesn’t care for any
one or you to push her backward to pain,
momentary elation, or the good
feelings that have gone before. They survive
persist in her memories, they are not
yours to deceive her with or blame her for
remembering – fondly or otherwise.
She holds them close, yet does not live in them.

Each word, every image, tells her story;
she has learned and grown strong with each lesson.
Mistakes made, forgotten then repeated,
are hers – only she can change her future.



The Balcony

Without fancy work or a gargoyle face,
she’s almost non-descript, borders on plain.
Clinging to the edge, she squints through the trees
not tall enough to fully block her view.
Vines grow, climbing to entangle themselves
about her, hiding her from passersby
who explore the city searching out love.
When spring buds unfurl blossoms, shielding
lovers who venture out to perch above
Paris streets, she holds court to their whispers;
secrets and laughter kept between the three.
She has played witness to joy and anger;
been baptized in tears of rage and passion.
She is the silent partner in their lives.

Flesh and Flesh


You rend flesh from flesh, break bones against steel

or rock, spew vitriol, venom and death—

all to bring life to balance some other-where.

There is no caress, no stroke or embrace.


My pages flip with strong hints of passion,

bold strokes of flesh against flesh, desire

flaring between bodies, need and want cling

together, supplication and yearning.


Do you long for a reprieve from your pain?

Is this diatribe a cry against life?

Is mine a longing bottled up inside

wanting freedom, releasing need from want?


Seen through words on paper, our lives collide,

split the space between us and make us whole.