Stolen Moment

I sneak away and see you
Your soft touch on my cheek
Quick kiss to the forehead
Share a glass of wine
Laugh about summer vibes
Flow as the sun into the sea
Stars ahead and above
Light our path for a short time
Press my eyelashes together
Feel the stolen moment disappear

I Can Tell

You kissed another
Lips chapped, sun kissed skin
Stomach torn off my sleeve
Pressed my tailbone and shoulder blades into the sheets
Forget our satin memories

Palms of another graced your body
It got to me, choked me
Weak minded and trusting
Her lips sank deep into my thoughts
Turned in my mind, smooth as an ocean stone

Thank you for the gentle drowning
Too much salt, sweet words
I will rise to the sun refreshed
My hands and heart no longer in tight fists
I can tell, you didn’t mean it

Butt Sex is Next

There is something in your eye

It is my finger.

Yes.

I am actually poking you in the eye.

Yep, in the eye.

Why, oh why, the eye? Because you suck.

It seemed uncomfortable enough not to hurt you

Weird enough for you to remember for the rest of your life

Maybe every time you touch your face

Or blink your beautiful stupid eyes.

Other physical pain may have been more enjoyable

But I am a lover not a fighter

So let’s try butt sex next.

Only because I love you

And want you to cry a little. 

She is Your Future

Your skin, soft as I remembered

Color of coffee with cream

Pressed my mouth against the edge of your neck

Without drawing a kiss

Eyelashes brushed your cheek

Our belt buckles clicked

Same height

Eyes align

I dropped my baggage

Hugged deeply

If March was the driest on record

November is filled with mostly rain

You looked strong, healthy

Nostalgic tears pooled in the corners of my eyes

Shoulders shrugged, slouched

I drew a box around you

Continued to hold you in my mind

Talking to you in required mental intervals

I know. She is your future.

But I am your roots.

We grew together below the ground

Deeply into each other

Pressed together like window panes

Keeping each other cool and dry

<>

I meant to post this on Halloween!

Title: Witch

One is a spell

Two is a possum’s tail

Three is a burned down school

My witchcraft worked again

I bit my tongue

Then your tongue

Then the tongue of another

Blood swirled in my mouth

Delicious good news

You can trust me

I am good for your soul

Do not realize I am evil

Light Fades from the Sky

Our time together is short 
My hands scour your body 
Rough palms from heavy labor
Feel each bend 
Each corner of your skin 

Smooth like an apple, I picked you 
I may take a quick bite  
Pull off a piece of you 
Swallow it, take it with me
But my teeth and will are weak

I run my tongue down your core 
Sweet, crisp movements 
Speed of a stroll through the park at dusk 
Our eyes never meet 
Light fades from the sky 

Bite the Straw: Fall or Draw

Odd weather day

Heat and humidity blanket our path

Picture us, stencil lines

Curly hair makes me look youthful

Tiptoe through the turning leaves

Palms, lips, hips touch

Squinting to the sun

Eyelashes protect each tender glance

Shed our scarves and jackets

Split an iced coffee to cool our tongues

I try not to bite the straw 

But you make me nervous

Nervous you may pick me

Fall with me to the ground

Roll us in the leaves

And hold me close

Nervous you may leave me

Draw away from me off the path

Leave me with a different heartbeat

And bloodless veins

With Truth, Independence

We talk about our mothers

We have their smiles

Bright eyes

Affinity for whiskey

Love of angry men

Men with strong arms

Stern smiles

Our families are a mirror

Youngest girl aligns with eldest boy

Stories spun like gold

Mouths full

Our mothers call

A reminder to be true

With truth, independence

Use You

Six am sleep erased

Help each other

Embrace

Tied laces tight

Lips tighter

Run through my mind

Orgasm-pink cheeks

Blood pumps

Heart races

Fingers numb

Throat dry

Run through my mind

Use you

Shape muscles

Trim waste

Create strength

Build will

Run through my mind

Stubble

Stubble brushed my neck when we embraced

Pricked my jaw, seared my skin

Little cuts on my cheeks burned like hot salty tears

When my face touched the pillows of my queen size bed

I was tangled in the sheets

The smell of you, sweet like ginger and brown sugar

Remained within the fibers of my black sweater

At the bottom of the curls of my hair

I wore pink lipstick to leave my mark on your crystal wine glasses

It worked, stained

We bumped knees and touched palms

Shared stories of our brothers and lovers

Wringing out the details of our past trysts

I won by breathing you in

You won by lying first

In the past I would have crushed you

Like the end of a hard strawberry candy

Letting your sweet, sugar center soak my tongue before swallowing

Now I am old

Wise

Alone

I feel you

Run my fingers through your hair

Adjust your collarbone

Kiss you, goodnight

Kiss Her on the Shoulder

Young wild girls will be the death of me
A tall drink of water films each frame
 
Tight jeans / square glasses / skin like lattes
Love through a camera lens

Espresso with no sugar

Dream of a simple life
Girl meets girl makes her…her wife?

V-neck undershirts

Excite almond shaped eyes

Kiss her on the shoulder

Loosen crisscross arms

Watch the film again

Imagine a patient life

Young wild girls will be the death of me

A tall drink of water pours a drink at the bar

Burlesque

Juicy Clemetine...is mine.

Let me entertain you
Let me make you smile
Let me do a few tricks
Some old and then some new tricks
I'm very versatile

And if you're real good
I'll make you feel good
I want your spirits too fine

So let me entertain you
And we'll have a real good time, yes sir
We'll have a real good time

And if you're real good
I'll make you feel good
I want your spirits to climb

Let me entertain you
And we'll have a real good time

Copied from MetroLyrics.com   http://dcgurlyshow.com/

Lazy City Tornado

The Laundry Game

When you asked to use my washing machine
I finally realized I was being used
It is a nice washing machine
It front loads.
It chimes like an early morning alarm waking me with a jolt

A jolt that feels like tripping up my apartment stairs while carrying something heavy
Like a case of bottled water or several frozen turkeys

My wrists too tired to let go
My feet have clearly given up
I tighten my abs and teeth to brace for an ungraceful landing
Tears already forming in my eyes
Instead I hit my head on pillows without pillow cases on a sheet less bed

It smells of clean laundry
I am ready to fold.
Ready to give up with each pair of black socks
Each crew neck white undershirt
Each pair of neon sport shorts

I have played the laundry game before
A light kiss to my forehead
A sweet rub to my shoulders
The entangled mess of shirt arms and pant legs now make sense
I am ready to fold.

My Moon, My Motivator

As I tiptoe to the lake
I turn my feet into the dirt without a sound
Late night mischief in my light green eyes

There, behind the tree limbs and leaves
I see my reason for breathing during the day
My moon, my motivator

Sweet lake water I envy your reflection
Two moons eclipse my eye lashes
Drown out harsh words, heal blisters

Strong enough to glow through the clouds
Light for my evening walks
Clear space inside me to shine during the day

-------

No, I said, What kind of bird, are you?

Her Indian Eyes

I live and die by Indian Eyes

Kisses of salt

Lick of savory cardamom

Each lash, each iris

I live and die by Indian eyes
Cigarettes on the fire escape
Legs crossed
Each pull, each exhale

I live and die by Indian eyes
Smoky eye liner
Small breath of air
Each answer, each request



NYC Dinner Across From Indigenous Eyes



In and Out of Affection

Breathing hurts my lungs as stove coils burn our dessert
He loves another
Mealtime more tired than restless legs and tasteless words

Sitting in dirty Levi’s
Hip bones and thoughts protrude from tanned skin
Bruising my thighs

Interesting to the tops of his ears with enthusiasm for sentimental moments
Learning from the other
Tears well up in my eyes and roll down my cheeks this evening

Words continue to prick my spin
Purposely forgotten nightstand earrings, now remembered
True love’s lovers have ended

Washing dishes in his sink remains the most natural
He loves another
Writhing hands try to understand the linen fabric dinner napkins


"Big Ass-ey Tassie's" 11/11



Single File Walk Away from Cheek-to-Cheek

Metro doors open
Leave my seat next to you
Walk through the crowd
Broken escalator

Slow walk down
Blisters form on my feet
Sweat down the crest of my breast
Metro doors closing

Car without air conditioning
Crush without consequences
My spit on your cheek
Your thoughts on my mind

Picture From Metro DC

Painful Pillow Talk

My fingertips tap your sweet shoulders
Hotter than the aluminum roofs of staggering summers
I wonder who your mind and mouth will be interested in next

Who will your clock tick-tock for?
Who will your palms sweat-snap for?
Who will your heart pitter-pat for?

I sink into my cool desk chair and twirl my hair around my fingers
Vodka soaked nights, club soda removed red wine spills
Our lips touch lighter than a strapless silk cocktail dress

My palms and fingers interlock with yours
Cleaner lines than kitchen counters at five star hotels
I wonder who your mind and mouth will be interested in next

Who will your feet tap-tip for?
Who will your head think-thoughts for?
Who will your stomach spin-stop for?

We continue to suffer through painful pillow talk
Coffee filter cubicles, water ring stained wood tables
Our toes touch lighter than a flickering lighter flame

Metro Toes

The Substitute Fruit

Everyone has a grapefruit.
Oh that, tart, sweet fruit that sits on the counter alone
It always needs sugar

You always need breakfast
So you eat it…
Sour liquid and pulp fills your spoon
You swallow even though the thought of the kitchen sink is near.

Everyone has a grapefruit.

Its peel shines like the sun from behind your skinny fruit collective
Bigger isn’t always better
It always needs sugar

You try to forcefully blend it into being orange juice
So you drink it…
Pink acidic poison drowns your tonsils
It needs vodka more than your Saturday night ride on the Greyhound.

Everyone has a grapefruit.
















Picture From: Eight ways to eat a grapefruit