beauty, lust, poetry, sex, women


The warm sweetness of your skin

Sometimes the want makes it

difficult not to tear you away

ravish you until you’re insensible

stretching out each moment

as you tremble beneath my rough hands

gentle in the tender places

a musician’s hand

an artist’s eye

a poet’s tongue

all once the art has been made

at play against your skin

you might tire of my weakness in time,

but the strength which flows through me,

lets you alone at my whim

and when the urge occurs,

i would take you

over and over

until the walls dripped with sweat

and you,

supine and glorious,

beg me enough



beauty, love, masculinity, poetry, women

fire in the broken places

Apart from things

Which no longer hurt

Bled until my limbs grew numb

But walked until it clotted

There’s more to me

Than my failings 

Temporary flaws

Burned to flakes of white ash

In the fire of my determination,

so you see,

I am careful and quiet

In my appreciation

a warm arrogance 

and informed by

the quiet knowledge

I know I will survive

But touch my broken places

I’m stronger there

And does your touch

Reach past to the warmth

Which exudes there

Makes your palms damp

With its roiling heat.

beauty, love, lust, poetry, sex, women


cover you in candyskin

so i can eat it off you

composed of licks

like masterful brushstrokes

against canvas

throb against me

because here,

i am the slow roll of thunder

building to a point where

you turn me into an animal

every nerve wired and directed

towards the release

inside you

but the storm builds

and the charge grows

trembling and thickening

pin you to the bed

force your thighs apart

because my want

is the path through the woods

and when i lay you down

sometimes rough with the want

you are not at grandmother’s house

but with a wolf

and so my tongue licks slow

warm and languid

cover you in candyskin

so i can eat it off you


beauty, love, lust, poetry, sex, Uncategorized, women

touch leaves marks

It’s in the breath

Thickened air

Each one lends weight

To the last

Carved over being grown

And all you need do

Is impress me as to

Whether I give the gift

Of myself to you

Laugh, call me arrogant

But no woman wants a lovable loser,

Sure, settle but you’ve done that,

And although I am not tuxedo and roses,

I am what nightmares run from,

You can feel small

Resting against me

My irrational self-confidence,

Isn’t so irrational

When my touch

Brings a small whimper to

The cupids bow of your lips

And I’m not insecure,

Because that implies

I’m not good enough,

And I am,

Not perfection because that’s dull and impossible,

You’d think I was some monster wearing a golden mask,

Rather than a beast who tried being a Prince,

And realised he could still be a beast

Without stockings or powdered wigs,

My touch leaves marks,

But they’re sigils,

Brands of intention which glow

When you see my face

Hear my voice




beauty, hunger, lust, poetry, women

A quiet glow

Breathe to

Keep it at bay,

Calling it a need

Implies that it’s a weakness

A charge building

Pooling in the hollow places

Enough to tear down

Buildings with my bare hands

I want to tear you apart

Plunge into you and write

Prayers on your bones

To the wild god within me

I’m capable of

Such loving violence

Yet the same impulse

Warrants caution 

Expressed with the delicacy

Of wonder

Surrender and I shall

Keep out the cold

With the fire within me

Even as it’s power

Turns my words to ash

And I sing, glowing like

Phosphorus given oxygens kiss

beauty, love, poetry, women

make it rain

In this

Even as sometimes

Notes get chorded 

With clumsy


But the song plays on

And when it’s my turn to

Solo I might drop the notes

Create dissonance

But I keep a straight face

Keep playing

Breathing open to the

Feeling and risking

Bringing it all down

In pursuit of something greater

Than myself

But there are storms 

Of wonder called 

By the music 

And even though the skies 

Might be bone dry

I’ll crank up the volume

And make it rain

Hot and sweet

love, masculinity, poetry

Wrestling Ghosts

Nothing you’ve done

Has been in expectation

Of reward

But you earn your place there

And the ghosts linger

Their parentage unknown

Past, present and future

Some of them wear your father’s face

And whisper shame into your bones

But you know your power

Sometimes fragile

And you are resolute

A coiled mastery of self

Which falters and you fear

Such missteps are cause for


But beneath there is pain

Rage and you keep those demons

In the bone classroom

They teach you

How to kill the ghosts

Say their name

Speak their fears rather than yours

You love bright and brilliant

And if you get it wrong

Then perfection itself is a glistening dream

You are everything you promised

Dispatched and arriving in stages

If only someone has the strength

To love past the lows

Back upwards into the light