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.


A Mona Lisa Smile
He watches the sun caress her body,
basting her curves with tiny beads of sweat;
his eyes trace a path across clavicle.
He longs to follow each drop as it slips
beneath the cling of fabric, soaking in,
giving her a glow, enhanced with secrets
she guards behind closed eyes and subtle smile.
She has no need of white sandy beaches;
the hot marble and cold fountain water
quiet her want; her desire simmers
just below the surface, waiting for him.
Under the Paris sky, he enters her
dreams, whispers of the wonders below them –
love, beauty – and a Mona Lisa smile.


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

Painted Red

Her nails, ripped and ragged from hard labor
meant to dull the senses, need to be smoothed;
perhaps even painted in pale soft shades –

although he never did care for such things…

She wants to feel feminine – desire
reflected in a lover’s eyes for her.
Not a stranger who doesn’t understand
how to tickle her in secret places

at the nape of her neck,

backs of her knees –

the pleasure she takes in simply kissing;
who can’t leave a tender moment alone.

Ruby lips, tender from being bitten,
provide a splash of crimson on pale flesh
lost beneath a blanket of memories.


Mystery Enough

My toes buried in the fresh grass, I think
of times not yet spent tangled together
moments when the world disappears, it’s just
us – two people unfamiliar after
all these years of knowing one another.
What secrets remain hidden inside you
for me to find – are they anything close
to those I keep locked securely in me?
And what temptation can I provide you
to reveal yourself? What can I offer
in return for your trust – a piece of me
not already promised? You can have it
all – I want no more secrets between us –
this passion serves as mystery enough.