here’s to entering 2018 with eyes open
this creative world
here’s to entering 2018 with eyes open
Tag Archives: passion
Kinder Hours
New flash “KINDER HOURS” and one of my illustration’s “UNIVERSAL WIZARD” togetherKinder Hours
Across the bridge where snow meets the sea, I comb my hair while wishing I were a swan. His broad hands stroke my delicate neck, gentle and curving on the point of a star.
I wake. Those same comforting hands are strangling me in the emptiness of shadow. Moonlight gives him the power to see my neck breaking, my jugular turning deep violet like the purple bed sheets of his new lover.
There was a time I would have gladly fallen beyond salvation. I’d have welcomed the pain. A tailspin drop to his bed, his mouth, his body. He touched my flesh and treasure books lost their gilded words. Warm gold lines melted into my bones. His shield of dragon horn turned silk upon our pressed bodies. He was magnificent. Those beautiful lips once whispered, “I love you.” The simple act of survival taught me to fight back. How many times must I do battle. I’ve grown weary. One weakness bests another. Pain rouses conviction, but I no longer possess the courage to face morning upright.
If my wand held an ounce of magic, I’d demand my mind dismiss its owner of memories. Dreams collect in a thick midnight veil, and waking hours are cloaked in cold light, light we once practiced magic in. A barred owl screeches as it lowers for a kill on the dark flattened tracks. The silver train streaks across the sky, but I’m not in a rail car. Trapped in a place that’s damning me, I will not adjust to the light. The sun is much too bright. It scorches earth and steals water. Charred holes open up into blackness and I watch all the white rabbits disappear. In darkness, I might remember the moon in kinder hours. Gentle arms cross my body where we lay together. Gold melts into my skin. His hands caress my neck. I scratch at his eyes then fly away.
Universal Wizard illustration
created with prisma pencil
farce of the heart
harvest moon secrets
The Dipping Bread, new flash published in Chicago Literati!
just in time for Halloween
I’m honored to be included in Chicago Literati, with my flash piece, The Dipping Bread
I hope you enjoy reading, as much as I enjoy writing about vampires and their victims 😘
THE DIPPING BREAD
It happens at the Fondue Palace. Near the cheese fountain. Two lovers twirling their fondue forks suggestively. He’s been ignoring his inner voice all evening. “Something is very wrong with your date, John.” The very same voice that hours before implored him to make an escape out the backdoor. Get out before it’s too late. Too late.
Suri’s sultry eyes are vacant things. John can’t gaze into those shining black planets orbiting his date’s face. He turns away from the closeness of her flawless skin. She giggles and flicks her tongue into John’s exposed ear. He laughs nervously. He senses a curious warm spot on his cheek.
Crimson droplets appear on the dipping bread.
His hand touches his face and traces the warmth down to his neck. The wetness tints his fingertips. He slides his thumb and middle finger together. Then apart. His eyes focus on what he sees. He’s unable to wrestle out the weak cry pinned behind his gum-line. Other unwitting customers continue gleefully stabbing at bread cubes. Drowning baked dough in pots of hot liquified cheese.
No words will leave John’s chained voice. Suri’s fondue fork finds her date’s palm. She guides the two-pronged metal, like a serpent’s fangs, along the meat of John’s hand then sweetly plunges the sharp points into his flesh. She guides his limp fist up to her wine-colored mouth. Her satin skin smells like ancient ice. A burning sensation shoots from John’s brain to his groin. An explosion unlike any erotica he’s ever experienced.
Suri’s slim, powerful hand slides beneath John’s shirt. His sweating back is buckling. She holds him up effortlessly with a polished finger. John clenches his jaw. His uninjured hand reaches around his date’s cool neck. Forceful and swift–he pulls her face to his. He kisses this “woman” in a manner unfamiliar to his own lips. Their mouths sucking like uncontrolled siphons. Lightning between his legs. Shockwaves ripple inside his thigh muscles. Metallic saliva flows back and forth between their twisting tongues. Cold bliss blankets John’s dying instincts. It’s blood, John. It’s blood.
I simply don’t know
2 new pieces published in Foxglove Journal
Veery excited to announce 2 new poems published in Foxglove Journal!
my poem, dogeared inspiration, in FOXGLOVE JOURNAL
I dogeared a page in your book
of inspirational quotes, Volume Two.
The one you keep in the nightstand
on your side of the bed.
The bed we never should have bought
with that money. Rather than a bamboo
pillowtop, we should have invested
in help from voices other than our own.
When you wake and find I’m not here
fitting into the lump our sleep pattern created
on a mattress supposedly resistant to lumps–
If you shuffle to the dog-eared page
of inspirational quotes, Volume Two,
perhaps you’ll figure out why
I was inspired to leave.
my poem, dark magic, in FOXGLOVE JOURNAL
s it dark magic that occurs
behind a wet curtain
a blanket of steam spray cascades down your flesh
is it darker magic still
when your eyes close
slight-of-hand for the senses
touch vibrates the clean sudsy silk
no floral bouquet or inattentive perfumes
no phony scent of any kind
unadulterated mist
like morning dreams
pouring over you
awash in clear mercy
when the frothing in your head
caresses the patterned tiles
and floats away in shimmering bubbles
the spray cuts off
the curtain draws back
the steam dissipates
in one breathless moment
the spell ceases
like a heartbeat
evaporates out the window
along with your fantasies
bullshit
an excerpt from my illustrated book of love ❤️ poems, love of the monster 😉 thank you
swallowing secrets
luscious moon
anntogether 