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


February’s Grey
When the November sky is October
blue and the breeze is a warm September,
I can taste that time we kissed. Chicago
in the rain and Paris with its heat wave,
hold memories no one else shares with me.
The warmth of your palms following the curve
of my waist and hips, caressing my cheek;
finger tips trailing rain drops down between
my breasts – your touch still ignites desire,
even across this span of years gone by.
February’s grey colors in my moods,
doesn’t heed the lines or form, scribbling,
erasing, on a whim, pieces of life
the way it was, leaving me with today.

Just Touching

Chill morning air steams her breath, still scented
with midnight kisses and mingling with
the flavor of him. Whisker burns graze cheeks;
hair a finger-tangled mess and lips bruised,
she smiles a shared desire; secrets
dance in her belly at the memory
of touching – just touching – and more touching…
with eyes, mouth, and tongue; a soft palm and thumb
along jaw-line and slender collarbone.

The lost art of intimacy, re-born
in the discovery of mysteries
below the surface, waits to be revealed
between would-be-lovers – newly strangers.
Each caress separates space from time.

June 5, 2009

Explore Me

Move your hand up past the turn of ankle
and arch of foot, along the curve of calf,
backs of knees tickled with the softest stroke.
Beauty whispering in each subtle shift
of muscle; knead the tension there, release
it with your caress. Can you imagine
the length of thigh – swell of hip beyond reach?

Anticipation skates across skin;
each flex of deft fingertip, each slip-slide
of palm, and barest scratch of nail along
the surface, heightens expectation.
Shape your desire to match my own, new
with the moon this evening; yet old as time.
Embrace these kisses – gently – explore me.

© Siobhan
June 1, 2009

One Glass

One glass of merlot and I am thrown back;
time becomes an illusion no longer
held in the palm of my hand. I’m looking
for a path to yesterday while I’m still
here in today. Can I travel with you
between your life and mine – repairing each
and feel our passion come alive again?

Stretched beneath the cool sheets, I do my best
to relax, imagine your hands caress
the stress from my body, building tension
I’ve missed – pleasure, an elusive pressure,
pushes against me, opens up the past
when love and sex mingled as one in us
and we shared both equally … in one glass.

© Siobhan

Palm Against Flesh


I miss the flavor of coffee kisses

blended with morning mouth – hardly romance,

just a notion, yet one I’d grown fond of …

across the years.  Who knew making oatmeal

or eggs would be so hard, alone.  Or how

difficult it is to put lotion on

your own back, almost lost without the warmth

palm against flesh – separated only

by the cool, slick fragrance – dancing water,

midnight pomegranates – or clean fresh rain.


It becomes the little things, when we can’t

bare the whole picture, its cover ripped off;

we miss life lived in a whole other world

that place to which we can never return.





I Reach Out


In the dark, phantom sensations take me

over the edge – memories of you lie

beside me. The weight of your body rests

deep in sleep. Heat from the palm of your hand

skims my thigh, warms my belly. I can feel

the unintentional caress beneath

my breasts as you shift, rolling away to

dream of far-off places and other lives.


Holding my breath, I wait for the soft sounds,

the rhythmic in and out of your snoring –

not always audible – my eyes shut tight,

I reach out – stretch my toes to the corners

and touch only cool sheets, pillows empty –

know the warmth I felt was merely my own.