Not So Silent Ghosts

I wanted so much to be alone,

quiet evenings and silent nights.

Now I'm here and drowning in it all

no distraction from this familiar fear,

invisible weight.

You tower over me,

still a child in your gaze.

Cowering at your feet,

eyes closed,

trying to push it out of my mind,

forget where I am...who I am.

The pretty distraction for a tortured mind,

a toy thrown to keep you at bay,

the little doll, forced to dance.

Hands that take without asking,

eyes that look too long,

scents clinging to my tiny arms,

a forced an embrace hidden in the dark of your shadow.

I run and still stand still.

Scream with no sound.

Cry with dry eyes.

And all these moments later

different place, different time,

and I'm at your feet again,

crawling out from under your gaze.

Under the shower,

the constant stream of water,

your scent is faint,

and you, you hold me less,

and less

and less.

Untitled

Restless

my mind wanders,

endless thoughts interrupting sleep.

your hands...warm and hungry

your lips...full and parted

your chest...pressed against mine

This is where I leave my head,

draw my fingers across my skin as if they were yours,

slowly tracing a path, pausing at each place I want you to stop...

touch...

kiss...

consume.

Tender skin arches to meet your mouth,

aching to feel the heat of your tounge,

softness of your lips,

tease of your bite.

Wanting fingers draw you nearer

over heated flesh that shudders as you pass -

neck...

breast...

belly...

thighs.

Breath sharpened, my hands move faster,

slipping between knees

legs parted, left than right.

Rocking, I find myself damp and pleading,

a rhythm of body and breath, my hips pulse

hands grasping for yours.

Legs spread wide and toes curled,

I turn my head, cries stifled.

I writhe and bite my lip,

imagining your weight as mine...

your fingers...

your mouth...

It is here that I want you

and here that I will wait

...are you coming?

Midnight Memoir

Body heavy with the want of sleep

I lay here

staring...

waiting...

thinking.

Wine sipped slowly stains my tounge,

warming my chest

settling, heavy, in outstretched legs.

My mind drifts,

incessant thoughts circling

wearing down a familiar path

here...

then there...

your name curling round my tounge

its sound bitter, its taste sweet.

I think of how you made me smile,

how you laughed at my easy blush.

I remember the feeling of my hand in yours,

and the warmth of your voice when you poured over me.

Eyes watching my breath,

the slow rise and fall,

body arched to reach yours,

chest pressed against mine,

the rhythm of your heart matching my own.

Lips tenderly kissing each inch of this fragile skin,

words whispered between sheets.

I'm crying now,

tears falling silently,

your hands nowhere to be found,

your body a soft spot worn in the fabric.

I curl inside myself,

my skin aching to feel your touch...

my head pressed against your chest to find that sound, that moment,

where breast and beating heart laid still...

where I had found you..

and I wonder...

when will I come home?

The Weight of Words

And it's all

stolen glances and heated musings,

lust-filled words

and wonderings.

What would it feel like?

How would you look with my hand pressed

here

my mouth wandering

there?

Where would you take me,

how fast, how slow?

Would you rise to meet me or push me back,

teasing me with your "no's"?

This path is worn,

familiar in curve and form.

A taunting smile and playful eyes,

honey-dipped words

and heavy breath.

I'm hungry, eager, wanting to know

what sits at the end of my questions.

So I reach -

fingers outstretched,

lips parted and teeth biting

but feel nothing.

No sound

No movement

I can taste only the bitterness of this space,

of musings replaced with unfamiliar words

cold and distant...

and I'm left wondering

how words ever moved me so.

When I Left Home

When I left home

you slipped into my suitcase

and stitched yourself on my shadow

You were the quiet hum in the dark

and the sliver of light piercing through my window.

You were the reflection in mirrors and water

in my face was yours,

standing and staring

scolding and questioning

angry at being left alone.

When I left home,

I didn’t,

I was only you in another room.

June 2004