writing

Shoulder

I am walking along a deserted street. It is daytime and inside the houses, dogs whine, expectant; the driveways empty of cars that instead are offhandedly whiling away dollars in dirty parking lots. The autumn wind blows beneath an overcast sky and the remaining leaves rustle like bones turning to dust in drafty mausoleums. I think that you are following me.

Footsteps plod along behind me to the rhythm of my own and your icy stare crawls up my spine like an eight-legged ghoul. I increase my speed, unwilling to look over my shoulder. To envision you there is horror enough: to see you there will turn me to mortar.

In my dreams I am unable to run fast enough and I awake with a film of cold sweat coating my skin. I turn and see the silhouette of your shoulder under the covers in the bed beside me, framed by moonlight and I awake yet again, relieved to find I am alone.

But now I am sure. I feel static in the air as your hand reaches out. Your dry palm scratches against the fabric on the shoulder of my coat. I crumble, screaming, screaming at the top of my lungs. I awake.

I glance at the dog. He whines, expectant.

Black

Your heat prickles my skin
in chilled beads of salty desire
your hair whips against my heart
and pulls my pulse from my body
I writhe at your mercy
Please, please give me your life.
My will
I will
see you as nothing but
everything

Stars and Char

As I hold you under the stars
And the threads of my jeans threaten
to pop
The fireflies dance in the smoke-drenched air
remains of our smouldering mound
of char

Your sighs say only that
you breathe the same air as I
but I long – I want to take –
I wish – I need to taste
the warm scent
of your moans.

As I pull you closer, closer under the stars
Nearer my thread-strained jeans
And my eyelids blink upon waltzing fireflies
And I inhale the smoke, your sigh, the scent of my
name upon your lips,
says you are mine
at
last

Passing

Over you I hover
as a bee

But I cannot be
seen

I am a ghost
of the past

I have passed
away

Since I have been
I’ve seen

The very scene
in which you will join me

For you I will care
to bare

My soul when you bear
the pain of our union

For now I will watch
as you spend your hours

until ours
are one.

100 word fiction – Sarcasm

Sarcasm drips so easily from your palate to your tongue that it’s hard to keep up with you. But I try.

“So you’re saying you don’t want broccoli for dinner tonight?”

“Oh yes, I love broccoli. I love to look at it and smell it and do all kinds of naughty things with it.”

I slow my speech. “So, you’re saying, you don’t want broccoli, for dinner tonight?”

“What the fuck do you think?”

“I’ll do beans.”

“NO! NO! I don’t want beans, I want broccoli, you stupid bitch!”

I long for you to grow out of the terrible twos.

Nightmares

How fast I run,
I run from the blade
But in dreams my feet won’t go fast

How hard I push
I push on the pedal
But in dreams the car still rolls back

How sad, I cry
I cry for the loss
But in dreams my family has passed

How deep I sleep
I sleep ’cause I must
For in dreams my life fades to black

The Interview

“All right then Mr. Jones, everything looks good. We’ll be contacting you within the next two weeks to let you know if you’ve got the job.”

“Thank you so much. I look forward to hearing from yo…”

“Oh! One other thing. I keep forgetting to ask this question. New protocol and all.”

“Yes?”

“Tell me, Mr. Jones. How many times per day do you urinate?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“How many times per day do you urinate?”

“Um… about three?”

“Excellent. We’ll let you know then. Thank you for applying for a job at Google.”

One Night Stand

When all of the lights
have dimmed, then gone out
and it’s just you and me
skin against skin
under covers of silk

No one can know how
our private commingling
with hot wax and fire
can serve us precisely
what we need to survive

In the daylight tomorrow
when we are re-covered
with inflexible masks
of social exertion
we’ll pretend unacquaintance

But tonight only we can
know yield and endowment
of intimate fusion
of blood, sweat and passion
under covers of silk

Superpower

At the fish market, Jim decided that his choice of superpower – the power to smell any pussy at less than a hundred yards – wasn’t necessarily the best choice.

…because, you know, cats like to hang around fish markets, and most of them have bad breath…

Apocalypse

I read the story in the car, in a parking lot, while my husband went into the building for an interview. The story was set in an apocalyptic world. Two people, believing the world was about to end, made love like there was no tomorrow. And then they lived to tell about it.