Poetry is painting with words. Painting is poetry without them. Lust is poetry with bodies. Poetry is lust without them. I wonder if someone else has thought of this.

climbing the notes to youmemories rush in and I weepgentle understanding in a lookI am nothing without yousacred need I have faithoccult visions disturb my reveriemy imagination warps and turns darkmy heart misses youmy thoughts find you ofteninside the...

You have been lost for days in the big blueSearching for dry land only to be pulled deep outThe salt of the ocean mingles with salted tearsWhere is the beacon to show you home   You begin to swim towards the...

  The Secretary “GET ME A MARTINI,” his voice crackled on the intercom. I’ve been working for this fucker for a few months now. I was already starting to regret my decision. I knew I didn't have much secretarial qualifications other than...

frustration build and my anxiety with itteeth grew and I was seethinganger evident it would be one of those daysembarrased need to be so vulnerablethe world picks at such sore spotsa sigh escaped and I breatheto get a grip...