Season of Change

Cross breezes mix warm Indian summer
with cool air from the spinning ceiling fan.
On her bed, stripped naked, she relaxes,
lets her eyes focus on the blur of blades.

Her breath becomes shallow, breasts barely move
with each in- and exhalation, lips part
ready for a lover’s intimate kiss –
unexpected want shivers across her,
eyes flutter shut, blocking out the sunlight
filtering through curtains – she is alone
in fantasy, welcomes these desires.

Everyday noises – children, traffic, trains –
a symphony plays behind her pleasure.

The season of change reaches out – touches.



More Naked – More Alive

Water pressure has eased from years ago.
Spray still fine, less needles – more massaging,
caresses her body, bared for no one
except herself.  She feels vulnerable,
exposed while hidden behind the curtain;
she smiles, entertained that she feels more
naked standing beneath the hot shower
than when she baths in the big pink bathtub.

Gone is the cold contrast of hard tile,
the subtly of beige stone replaced now
with smooth, bright, clean white walls – they surround her,
allowing imagination to paint
the sensations, her skin feels more alive,
anticipates her lover’s touch – someday…



Hot Shower Woman

Hot fine spray,
sharp needles
prick skin alive.
Face lifted, eyes closed
mouth opens
to warm rain;
hands cup full breasts,
thumbnail rakes
nipples peak
anticipation. Each
brush a caress.
Curls dampened by deed
more than water.

Forehead against cold tile
creates contrast.
Tension mounts, fingers
slide past waist,
hips hold firm
palm pressed flat
against wall.
Smooth, hard,
slick, wet
soap’s cleansing
bubbles, urgency
builds behind,
pent passion,
spills wash away
hot fine spray.


Published in Second Child copyright 2001, Daybreak Press

The Fight

I fight with myself over taking you
to bed
pulling you between my sheets
and thighs;
in the scent of you
left behind;
those piles of non-essential clothes
that carry you knotted their fabric.

Whirring fan blades brush me
with their faint breeze,
cool this heated flesh
caught up in the momentary celebration
of making love – and having
sex for the pure pleasure of sex.

Wrestling with memories of you
beside me,
I stretch out naked, relaxed
yet tense
with longing,
exhausted from the fight.


In This Dream

Electricity gathers about her;
snakes up calves, slides between thighs, igniting
a fire beyond her control; white heat.
She senses the downpour churning beneath
the surface; her body begs for release.

Untangling from sticky sheets, she walks out
to greet the storm on her own terms – naked
in the midnight hour, she stands ready
to receive this fury, this force, passion
held in check for too long. Lightning flashes

capture her silhouette against the dark;
the hot-meets-cold wind wraps his arms around,
pulls her close, gently caresses pale flesh.
She has found home once again in this dream.


Naked Canvas
Just when she thinks she’s picked up all pieces
of her broken heart, a misstep across
the kitchen floor finds one more shard ready,
willing, and able to pierce the soft flesh.
She questions, cries. Alone for the first time,
uncertainty lurks in every corner.
Each groan of rafters, creak of the floor boards
becomes a ghost walking through and stopping.
With each drop of blood on cracked tile, she feels
his promises, elusive as the wind,
come back and disappear just as they did
before, when he shattered both love and trust.
He watches from outside the circle of
her warmth, offers solace, comfort, passion
– not for her, not now – as she stumbles on
the memories scattered through their house – once home.
She pulls pictures from frames, throws paint on walls
to cover images of love-making
cast there by candles lit, now long gone out,
passion and desire – following suit.

With each stroke of color, she heals again,
a naked canvas, new life, waiting for her.



With Butter and Jam
She wakes, body stretched out to the edges
of a twin bed, covers rumpled from sleep.
Sunshine filters through the unfamiliar
curtains; sounds drift in the open window. 
Disoriented, she closes her eyes,
takes a deep breath, and remembers… Paris.
She knows that if she looks out the window
now she will see the skyline of her dreams,
the Eiffel Tower on the horizon;
the shelter of the Montparnasse’s shadow.
Up the street, a café for coffee, fresh
croissant with butter and jam, is waiting.
She slips from bed, slides a sundress over
nakedness – dreams become reality.