Thursday, June 30, 2011


Longing for the gentle touch of your finger tips against my thighs,
The sweet caress of your lips lightly kissing my breasts;
Then the hungry licks as you travel down to my most intimate,
Tasting my desire for your love, sending shivers up my spine
And making me moan as I move my hips in anticipation,
Craving penetration.  I need you to love me
Until the morning light illuminates the room
And we collapse in pleasure in each others arms.  

Wednesday, June 1, 2011


I wrote all but the last four lines of this poem in high school.  For some reason the lines just started spilling into my head even though I hadn't read or even thought of this poem in years. 

I sit and stare at a blank page.
A blank page stares back.
She mocks me in my futile attempt to create art-
at least that is what they are calling it, I think-
I scribble senseless phrases and meaningless words
on her pure whiteness,
making her impure;
blemished with my wishful thinking,
scarred by my emotional wanderings.
She scowls at me and my musings
as though I were an estranged lover.