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Don't Forget My Name

They say that sex is more than just 
another way to numb the lonely nights.
Until now, I believed 
it would never be more than that
for someone like me.
But, when I look at you, I see everything
I've spent the last five years searching for
in the beds of men who never
remembered my name in the morning.
Don't just fuck me like the rest of them, baby,
Show me that love isn't just a word used in 
fairytales and chick flicks.
Don't forget my name.

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Night Dreams


For those who can’t
find comfort
safety from the storm
who sleep
on different sea shores
or beds
in different homes
prayers to you this night
when laying down to sleep
hoping you find comfort
in each other
when you close
your eyes
and dream

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sinister sonneted moon ( December walk )

this December afternoon feels just about right
cold and a little bit snowy, but so what?
freshly fed and coffeed, to prepare us
ready for a city walk with misted breath
warmed by our feelings towards each other
so we left -

we made the hill that we climbed rec-og-nize
then when finally we reached the street’s peak
we knew the journey’s worst part was behind
as the waining wyethian western sky
said goodbye to us in a fading amber wave
surmising that the warmth at our destination
would rank second - only second - to our fire within.


that ol' moon's now singing its envious tune
and silverizing pathways under our tread
shadows and fog become phantoms to dread
as if we’re the crazy proverbial loon

my feets are too big to beat a retreat
in for a penny or a pound of our flesh
wrapped up like gifts, water-tight but still fresh
intrepid like that, and fat with lean meat

having a chew of this protein and salt
anything handy will have to sustain
since we chose cold air o'er snow and the rain
the jerky’s not balanced, but that’s not my fault

'twas a fools journey, we knew when we started
defying the odds for a ghost of a chance
to overcome stasis in lieu of romance
now we’re too broken to be broken-hearted

so roadward we journey as did Kerouac
fingering the shroom i’ve got stashed in my coat
(being a fan of the ‘random’ doesn’t make me a goat)
just offering the rewards of a geek brainiac

sludge-like we trudge through the moon-glistened streets
bemoaning that we were once each other’s sweets.

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Running Mascara

the last time I saw her

she was standing ankle

deep in the sandy shore

watching as the waves

try to kiss the continent

continuously falling back

into the arms of a past

lover that has found a

home with someone else

she stared at the water

as if the ocean would show

her truth in the reflection

she is a beautiful mess

she is running mascara

broken stain glass windows

I never asked her name

just watched as she walked

with no expression to the

end of this country and

stared into the infinite blue

she was never seen again

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Pais Tropical

Do you still remember

the eternal


you and I once



The balmy air


tropical trees,

your hair smelled like



Do you still remember

the sands between

our toes

and the blue ocean,


W  i  d  e


as it merged with the


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I met this boy today

of gentle eyes

and of purest soul.

He reached out his hand

and told me his name

and as the sound of his name

escape from my lips

and the moment I grazed his delicate palm,

the circuits in my brain went overdrive

and with a soothing voice it told me,

"This is your man."

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Deep in his opal eyes



where the planets


and the stars


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Clint and Lisa

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There is a Beauty in LOVE


there is beauty in Love

a gleam in the eye

the spring in our step

roseate color to our view

clarity in our purpose

oh, how we savor that

desperate urging in our hearts -

when near,

with tender resounding “click”

its magnetism draws two together

two souls shared -

a beauty seen in each

that never wanes

regardless of time or circumstance

each hard experience

softened by companionship

each joy magnified


oh, how we are transformed

by Love’s alchemy

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I want to meet; I want to be

I want to meet a person.

Someone who has cut loose their puppet strings

using the blades along their fingers; a weapon

gained from a history of wrapping skin with

beasts in a masquerade.


Someone with an expensive heart

enriched by a passion that ripples into their voice-

a sound that will never harbor a vestige of fatigue

for what they love to be consumed by,

for what they love to consume,

for what they love.


Someone that sticks wholesomely to the apertures in my nest of a mind,

perching carefully so as to not form creases

along the tunnels of emotional mazes, dream spewing chimneys,

and coffins nailing shut the haunted fragments of my psyche.


And if this person were to detach I would be left with a stench

that reminds me of the color of their wings,

the places they took us,

and the jealous wonder of the skies they now enchant.


I want to meet that person;

I want to be that person.