Frigid, calm front hides in northern winds, the vast sky of my bedroom dims. Stream in winter Iced over, mother’s embrace letting go at bedtime.   Still raining, sky’s dark pillow, eyelids become anchors, smothering.   The cold front blanketing these damp lids, peacefully covers the coming storm.

Where do you gowhen you climax?I feel your body beneath me,but your presence driftssomewhere else,untouched by hands. Ah… petit mort,the little death. If death is truly so sweet,why do we tremble before it?

Adventures in the Skin Trade    Baggage kneels heavy on our hearts  late night Hotel porter lays two suitcases  underneath a broken neon sign.  It crackles ‘For Lost Lovers Only’    Crush my burning lips as ashes  coil bed sheets into sailing knots,  let's shelter in our skin...

Blood drips slow from the ceilingOh it tastes like rustHead's poundingSirens screamingMy mind’s combustCops poundingThe door’s caving in“Where were you” they shout“where’ve you been”I’m blankI’m hollowThe reel won’t playNo pastNo shadowJust a foggy grayIron tastes like memoryBitter and coldQuestions...