• Glutton…

    they used to tell me
    it looks like I’m hunting trouble
    leaving them thinking I enjoy the drama

    I get it…
    I do
    I can see how it might seem that way to you

    but that’s not it
    I’m not chasing more of the same
    same shit different day
    I actually prefer peace and quiet

    it’s just…
    I’m used to my own darkness
    …my…Read More

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    2 Comments
    • Exactly Willow. Learning from one’s experiences is not SSDD, it’s growth. And this growth is internal and personal, doesn’t matter what others may think. But if someone is paying attention, this growth becomes obvious and welcomed. -Curt

      • It takes a while to recognize the patterns, but once we do – we grow. And nobody moves at another’s pace. Thank you, Curt

  • April 9th — The Breakthrough of Impossible Realities

    April 9th does not arrive.
    It erupts.

    It tears a seam in the morning,
    a thin, shimmering wound
    through which light leaks sideways,
    as if the day itself
    has forgotten how to behave.

    This is the day of breakthroughs,
    not the gentle kind,
    not the kind that whisper
    you’re doing fin…Read More

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  • Dark Honey

    Your desire
    is slow and thick,

    dark honey
    dripping
    from every glance.

    You
     trace
      my spine
    with deliberate sweetness,

    each touch a question,
    and a claim.

    I melt into you,

    into the warmth
     you draw out of me,
      drop
      by
      drop.

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  • You Have Roughly…
    ‘We do not see things as they are, we see things as we are’ – Men
    Ohm! Ohm! Ohm! Ohm!
    You have roughly…
    Who’s that girl? Her name’s Furl,
    Ohm! Ohm! Ohm! Ohm!
    You have roughly five…
    Why the mask? Man, don’t ask!
    Ohm! Ohm! Ohm! Ohm!
    You have roughly five minutes…
    What, she, say? Man, no way!
    Ohm! Ohm! Ohm! Ohm!…Read More

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  • The Old Man at the Window and the Immortal Cats

    April 8th arrives
    with the hush of a page
    that turns itself.

    In the big window
    the one that frames the world
    like a painting too honest to sell
    an old man sits,
    chewing a piece of old bread
    as if time itself
    were something he could soften
    with patience.

    He does not speak.
    He never…Read More

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