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Better For Their Creation

These hungry silences

Do not falter

Yet here, strengthening by action

And although there are fine words

A touch, an act of service

Mutual intermingling

Time, space, mutable as kissing

Pin you down and exorcise

Your fear with my fuck

Laugh eat and conquer

Come to me

I offer the play and the seeds

Have sunk roots

My adventures blossom

A quest into ashes

Found gold in these scars

Touch them

Better for their creation

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What flavour of

Thought am I

To you

Copper and sanguine

Sweet and intoxicating

Those points

Where the promise of my

Fingers reduces you

To prayer

As i bloom

In your imagination

The rough reality of me

Falls before nothing

No one

Call my name

Taste my own thoughts





Lights Will Guide You Home

The longer you take To find your way back home The bleaker it gets Inside my heart I’ve left the porch light on My sweet I hope you find your way in the dark The light will guide you home But the question which begs answering Is Are you even looking?

Lights Will Guide You Home
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Still burning

The chill breeze

Makes my flame waver

But nothing




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to be broken in a perfumed garden

I want

To break you

Not from cruelty

Or weakness

But from a want

Strong as gravity.

Even in passing,

The urge you inspire

Makes my paws heavy

Ready to grasp you close

Pull your hair,

Tease and dishevel you

A rambunctious glorious play.

Belly laughter and bruises,

Red stripes of flesh like tiger markings,

To test and push,

And all of it makes a sense which

Sits quiet and patient,

Alongside the sweep of conversation,

The poetry of silences

Which express the all,

Baby girl,

I appeal not to reason,

But to the storm,

The raging ocean,

The roaring animal

Which lives in the perfumed garden

Of your flesh

Yet I know the joy

Of your smile taking wing

And brightening the air

Around me.

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rain of my attention

Beneath the actions,

The calm authority with which

I conduct myself,

The supple confidence

Which comes from being

Unencumbered by restlessness

Some part of me reveals itself

Rough hands made delicate

Deep, gruff voice softened

Into chuckles

Trained but not domesticated

My words are cool sips

Smoothing out into bursts of warmth

And each time I enter the room,

It becomes the first time,

And a rush of adolescence


Like the building of static

Before a storm

And you dance in the rain of my attention

The ribald peals of laughter

Ringing like church bells

And this, the closest

I’ve come to knowing faith

Makes me feel

As close to salvation

As I’m likely




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A Deep Kiss

oh how

My will

Seeks expression

Through your flesh

My lips

And tongue would

Kiss my intentions

Into the damp, warm

Places of you

Drink each glistening


My hands would

Compose hymns

To the divine

With each pinch


Sliding them slow

Exploring the 

Throb of your 

Need and calling

It into the air

With my body

And it’s rough


I would gently


Redraw the boundaries

Of your soul’s


For love

To match the beauty

That draws out the

Beast within

And all his

Rapacious poetry

poetry Uncategorized

Slow Poison

If I believed in slow poisons

Then what crawls in the labyrinth of the veins

Kills by degree

There’s an antidote

But this grail

Is out of reach

So sat here

Wondering which breath will

Take me with it

So here, no one cares to ask

If this a smile

Or a rictus

These ironies shouldn’t escape any of us

As the last few moments fly

Like migrating birds

Made sluggish

Would a touch

A kiss

A kind word heal?

But suffused with the sorrow of

Bleak stressors

A kindness comes

Even if they’re too exhausted

To administer

No triage shows us hope

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to crack the clay.

Photo by Pixabay on

to crack the clay.

On solid ground
But standing on the edge
A sense that the fall
Would be wild and sweet
Fast and you’d hear the sigh
Of joy over the volume of the crash
In that rubble, revealed by the scars
You’d find yourself,
Bright and shining,
Show me the woman encased
In the clay of goodness,
Let me test that fire
With the quiet call to obey
To let me take care of you

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As you walk across the room.

Photo by Andre Moura on

The sight of you

In motion

Giving voice

To the divine


Calling through

The bland cream of


To the primal masculine

Stripping me of empty

Words filling the void

With animal laughter

The curves

Draw out the divine drug

Of lust and like the lupine tides

Of full moon I change in

Your light into something

Dark and intent

Inspired to

the warring roiling

Clash of bodies

My breath sticking

Napalm in my lungs

At the sight of you

Would you be shocked

At the admission

A confession,  offered

Without guilt or shame

The chains that tether

A man to the rock

Of propriety

And I would tear

The clothes from you

Not to spoil

But to be witness

To the fullest terrifying

Beauty of you

Surrendered to pleasure

My eyes are full

And I am quiet because

I am not thirsty

But hungry