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My Want Is An Avalanche

We look at our
Sometimes our
Scars speak for themselves
But when I see
An ocean at sunset
Never looked as
I don’t need anything from you
But my want is a
Too much sometimes
To feel held
In one body
Which is

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Language of The Flesh


The stinging smack

Not so much a sound

As an expression of a language

Your body speaks

But your mind only articulates

In the creamy shadows of dream

How long had you kept

Yourself dumb to the words

That you needed to speak

In sobs and stings and marks

Memories as shadows on your skin

Lift yourself higher

So that you can feel more


Until you are bursting.


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Hands, Eyes, Mouth


Strong enough

To sweetly tear you apart

I know how to hurt you

And why


That see the burning want

In your smile

Reading the shift in you

As you raise your ass up

Whispering in that voice

That makes my blood

Into thunder.



With each kiss as you squirm

With delight

And as it strays into the realm

Of fevered dream.

Where feeling dirty

Is a gift received

with delightful excitement.

How long has it been

Since you found a man

Who understood who you were

What you wanted?



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Good Hurt

It’s the clumsy unfeeling

Overtures that cause the scars

The brutish insistence of a touch

That blindly guesses at what you

Actually want.

Or doesn’t care enough to find out.

Not here


It’s fingertip bruises that

Make you smile as you press them

For the memories

A burn on the back of your thigh

That you’d wear as a badge of courage

That sore spot on your scalp

Where I pulled your hair from behind

The tenderness when you swallow

From where you held and

Insisted that I go harder

Not injuries

Because you look into my eyes

And you ask me



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Sweet Fires Burning

Look at you

Glazed and sweating,

Eyes ablaze with a fire

That can burn through sheet metal

Oh god your sweetness

Equal parts wanting to build a pillow fortress

To hide in

And pinning you to the bed

To fuck the breath from your body

You’re so full and I cannot stop

As you rise from the bed

And ask me again




As much as you can stand

Until that gentle smile breaks through

Like a sunbeam through clouds.

And I want to make a mess of you

Over and over

As you say my name

A breathy sigh that feels like a tornado

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Gifts from a moment.



A room where there are no clocks

A bed

A door that locks

Curtains thick enough

To deny the passage of time

Leave your anxieties

Your fears outside the door

And switch them off

Come here

Look at me

Nothing happens

That you don’t expressly want

I can see the wildness there

The way you see a storm formenting on the horizon

And I want to make a glorious

Mess of you

Slick and grinning

Until you dance against the sheets.

The walls, the floor

You’ll find bruises and scrapes for days afterwards

Gifts from a red wet moment.

And all you have to do

Is take my hand.


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What You Find In The Virtue of Restraint.

Your clotted kisses

Shoot up my spine

Your eyes

Fix on me like

A sunrise

After a long time spent

In the dark.

You’ve ached

For someone who knows the way

To show you how there’s freedom

In letting go,

Just breathe,

Let me take care of you

Between stinging sweetness

And hard words that draw out

The smile in your eyes.

It takes power

To ask that the restraints

Be made just a little tighter




But the power’s all yours

I am just helping you

Find it.

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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 who’s been 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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Simply Dig

“How many women wrote beautiful novels and stories and poems and essays and plays and scripts and songs in spite of all the crap they endured. How many of them didn’t collapse in a heap of ‘I could have been better than this’ and instead went right ahead and became better than anyone would have predicted or allowed them to be. The unifying theme is resilience and faith. The unifying theme is being a warrior and a motherfucker. It is not fragility. It’s strength. It’s nerve. And ‘if your Nerve, deny you –,’ as Emily Dickinson wrote, ‘go above your Nerve.’ Writing is hard for every last one of us — straight white men included. Coal mining is harder. Do you think miners stand around all day talking about how hard it is to mine for coal? They do not. They simply dig.”

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Exciting Announcement – Seriously, You Know

So, I’m in this next year, yeah?

Go preorder it from Amazon. I’m in some fine company and it was a great deal of fun to write for this.