Few Are Left To Remember

I see a twilight in your eyes. Where the heart’s flame subsides and seeks the spark of a distant fire, or perhaps the wick just burns short in this long hour.

The sky once exploded like daylight, on those darkest of nights, illuminated by the blinding hue of fevered passion, forged from molten desire. Now, we sit in silence. Pale figures in the dusk of complacency and unintended neglect.

Our will is no longer enough to fan this dwindling ember.

This ache I feel informs me of the once was, a hole carved over time from the rush of torrential current, now dry river bed. A testament to a past that few are left to remember.

When I feel, joy is muted, yet so is sorrow. As if my heart is at a distance, relaying emotion through fog or cold rain. I see the puddles mirrored in your eyes. If I could feel empathy, I’m sure I would. Yet all I feel is weary, numb.

We promised to never let go.

Promises are for the young.

The Urgency Of Twilight

The sun seemed to hang at noon much longer than expected. Or, more likely, I chose not to pay it any mind, hoping that it would stay midday forever.

I have seen my summers pass, from a window. Letting this self made fortress protect me from mistakes, misdeeds, and bitter anniversaries.

Wisdom tells me that those wall aren’t keeping out the Huns, the usurpers, or the conquerors.

No, they keep out the light of the saviors.

I watch each summer come and go, foolishly counting each day away, like a currency I can earn back.

The sun hangs lower today, and I now feel the urgency of twilight.

How now to fell the walls and ramparts of my own design and again, feel the warm kiss of the setting sun?

In exactly the same manner that this all began…one brick at a time.

For The Godessess

The hard rain battering the roof of the car couldn’t drown out her wailing sobs. She sat behind the wheel shattered, shaking and drowning. Parked up the street. She both knew exactly why she had come here and the terrible fear over what it meant, what it could do. She no longer remembered driving here. She had no concept of what time it might be now, other than night.

She’d circled the block so many times she lost count, talking herself out of it, talking herself into it. Each time around, each little skirmish between head and heart, took its toll.

She parked in the pouring rain and what fingernail grip she may have had on herself, let slip. She simply broke. Screaming her frustration out at her windshield. Pounding out her fear and guilt and anger and unyielding need, on the steering wheel. Tears pouring from her eyes. Shattered. Shaken. Drowning.

She threw the car door open and started stumbling in the downpour, before she even had time to accept what she was doing. She was walking to the house. Fuck it. FUCK IT! Her mind screamed at the other voices inside, battling for her heart. Soaked now, her hair matted to her face, she trudged up the steps to the door and knocked, and knocked, and knocked.

The door opened and she didn’t even hear the words “Oh my God! Lisa! What happened?? Are you OK??”

No, Lisa didn’t hear the words, because she found immediate solace in just SEEING Sarah’s beautiful face. She took a deep breath and professed,

“Sarah, I don’t care anymore. I don’t care about. Colin or James, I don’t care what people think! I just don’t fucking care anymore….”

James is heard in the background, “Sarah? Who is it? Is that LISA?!? What did we AGREE??”

Sarah stands shocked and wells up at her friend before her, lost.

Lisa know that time is up and begins to rush all her words and thoughts and pain, “Sarah, babydoll, lover…I can’t…I just cant do it! I love you. YOU! I need you! I want you! You. I do Sarah, I love you and I know…I KNOW you love me too! I just…i just fucking know you do…” she cant finish and collapses to her knees, sobbing on the porch. Raw, open, heart flayed for Sarah to do with as she pleases.

James appears at the door. Phone at his ear, “…no, shes here on our porch….fuck you, come get your wife!…..HELL NO, she stays right where she is. You control her, Colin, I swear to God!” And he pulls Sarah inside.

Sarah mouths the words “I’m so sorry.”, quiet tears of anguish rolling down her cheeks.

Then the door slams and locks.

Lisa is paralyzed with soul crushing pain. Crying so forcefully now, sound no longer comes out of her lungs. Time stands still in her world. She doesn’t hear the rain, she doesn’t hear the muffled shouts from the house. She doesn’t even hear the car pull up. Or the door shut or the quick footsteps up to the porch.

The first thing she hears, as he kneels down and embraces her, is her husband, Colin, compassionately say,”Shhhh, come on, honey. Come on, its OK. Lets get you home.”

He helps Lisa stand, and with an arm around her, leads her through the falling rain, to the car.

As they near it, Lisa explodes, “NO, Colin! NO, it is NOT ok! Ok???” The war within her, spills out onto him as she spins to her oblivion. “I just gave up everything to tell my best friend that I’m in LOVE with her! And I…CAN’T…HAVE….HER!!! And I’m destroying you…US in the process! And….and I’m so deep now I have no idea how to climb out!”

Colin doesn’t know what to say or do. He finally asks the words he already knows the answer, “Do you love her more than me?”

Lisa kicks the car, “YES! And it kills me!! It FUCKING KILLS ME!!”

“It’s ok, Lisa. Shhh, it’s ok. Lets just go home and talk.” Trying to do anything to settle her. She turns, leans against the car and slides to sit on the wet street. The sobbing returns.

Colin sighs and takes a wet seat next to Lisa in the rain and waits. He’ll wait as long as it takes. After a long moment, maybe two, she does speak.

“Colin, I love you.” She starts, putting her hand on his. ” You’re my friend and have been a great partner. I don’t want to have to make this choice. But the way I feel, the way SHE makes me feel? The choice is made for me. And…I know what that means. And I know what I’m saying to you. How much I must be hurting you. I’m so sorry, Colin. I fought it. I fought hard. I cant fight anymore. I love her, Colin.”

Through softer tears, she adds. “I need her like breath. Do you know what I mean?”

Colin stars at the rain bouncing off the pavement, and after a beat, whispers, “Yeah, I know what you mean.”

He looks up at Lisa and with resolve in his voice, he asks, “So if the choice is made, what do we do about it?”

“What, like divorce?” She asks back.

“Well, yeah, I guess we’ll get to that.” He answers with a deadpan sad chuckle, but not what he meant, “What do we do about Sarah? Do you even know yet? Does she want the same thing?”

She leans her head back against his car, letting the rain soothe her burning eyes and says with a sigh, “No, I don’t know.”

A silence that can only be called finality, settles in. Colin knew to fight would do nothing, would push her further away. To try and force someone to love you is about as possible as draining the ocean with a teacup. He did love her. He always would. He knew what she wanted now and that was all that mattered.

“Get up. Take my keys and start the car.” He said, standing, soaked.

Lisa was confused, “What?”

“Take my keys! Give me yours….and let me see your phone.” He insisted.

She took his and gave both her keys and the phone to him. He played with the phone for a moment, then handed it back.

“Start the car, keep it running. When I come back, I’m going to jump in quick. As soon as I’m in the passenger seat, GO! Do you understand? JUST GO, like we robbed a bank. I’m about to talk to James. I fear we may need a quick exit. Do you understand??” Colin said to Lisa, as a loving husband.

“Jesus, Colin. Don’t! He could kick your ass and you know it!” She warned.

“That’s why I need you ready for our getaway. Be ready, I love you, Lisa.” He kisses her cheek and heads up to the porch.

Lisa climbs in, starts the car and waits. Even with wipers on full, she cant see what’s happening on the porch. A minute turns to two, then three. She begins to worry. She hears James’ yelling from here. Fuck. She is about to shut the car off and call the cops when the passenger door flies opens. She hits the gas almost before he can shut the door.

They are screaming down the block when she yells, “Jesus of all stupid things you’ve done, that’s right up there!”

“Do we really want to talk about stupid things, babydoll?” Says Sarah, dropping the hood she wore to protect her from the rain.

Lisa slams on the breaks, fishtailing the car until the ABS kicks in.

She just stares at Sarah, her lip quivers as the tears start to roll. Sarah leans over and takes Lisa in her arms. They kiss like lovers from ancient lore. A kiss for the goddesses.

When they break, Lisa asks through tears of abject joy, “wha? How? I don’t understand?”

Sarah shows her a text she received. It read…

Sarah, I’m texting from her phone, because I know you’ll read it immediately. I wish she looked at me with half the love she does when she looks at you. That’s a once-in-a-life kind of love. Don’t let that pass. Ill distract J for you. Shes out front, waiting. Please love her well.

Lisa brought a trembling hand to her mouth and understood, with a slight laugh of gratitude for what Colin had done. And how much he truly means to her and how much she means to him. To step aside for her and Sarah. That’s a debt she may never be able to repay. That’s a gift of real love.

“Lisa, lets drive.” Sarah says, hoping James isn’t out looking yet.

“Where to, babydoll?” Lisa says, laughing with more joy now.

“Just somewhere new.” Sarah replies, clutching a big wet purse that contained a few essentials, that letter from Lisa and one infamous black nightie.

As they drove off, on that rainy night, they both laughed and cried and knew this was a once-in-a-life kind of love.

Like that of ancient lore.

For the Goddesses.



That Time

There was that time you greeted me at your door wearing nothing but a smile that could stop a hurricane. And that time you put my hand between your legs at the table of our friend’s dinner party.

What about the time I was over, you were late for work and I made you call in sick? Well, I didn’t make you. I just offered you a much better alternative for your day. Remember that?

What about that time you wanted to go to your first sex shop? How big your eyes got. We howled at some of the ridiculous gadgets and contraptions, and then it got serious. You made me so excited when you found the things you wanted. That night at your place started like Christmas, you tearing into bags and boxes. It ended in a marathon of exploration, experimentation. Ecstasy.

Then there was the time on the stairs at my house, not even making it up to my bedroom. Too much need, too powerful the desire. And that time in the car, like teens at make-out point. The tap of the officer’s flashlight startled us. He played it all business in telling us to move along, but he must have been laughing all the way back to his cruiser. That will get the heart going!

Oh, and that time you emailed me the sound of you cumming? And I went into the bathroom at work, just to make one to send back. I still have the file you sent me, saved. It still makes me cum.

What about the time you bought that black lingerie? You had that extra glass of wine and devoured me! You almost broke me in two! I know now, when you wore it, I was in for it. I love that lingerie.

There was that time I had to travel for work. Our calls those nights are still some of the hottest things we’ve ever said to each other. Damn, the words that came out of your mouth.

It saddens me that it’s over now. You were my cute plaything, my sexy partner in crime.

But now that our husbands know, its too complicated.

Remember that time we first tasted each other??

I’m sorry, I’ll stop.

I miss you, Sarah.



Nails On The Paint Job

Once my hand grabs your panties from under your skirt and yanks them down your thighs, the blood rushes from your head and you exhale a deep, breathy, “Oooh.”

You dribble honey from the pure rush of it all, you bent over the cold hood. Light drizzle, halogen streetlamps. The buzz, the darkness, being handled, manhandled. If your pussy could squeal with giddy joy, it would.

Your tits press against the damp metal of the car, nipples hard enough to key the paint job. Cool air on the skin of your warm ass, your hot, hungry cunt. That fucking delicious moment of anticipation. Your body shakes, begging for it. The sopping wet heat between your legs, has drawn all your senses to it. To that spot. To that smooth, throbbing spot. It has drawn mine as well.

I undo my pants and free my smooth part, my throbbing heat, my hungry cock. There is no need for tease now, we’ve been cruel and vulgar and sexy and fresh enough tonight. This is when we get messy. This is when we get primal. This is when it gets loud.

I stand behind you, one hand on your streetlight lit ass and the other runs my cock up and down your slit, coating my head. You try to grip the flat surface of the car as the fires ignite from the carnal contact, so needed. As I push my hips forward, my cock meets the slight resistance of your tight hole, then you give way and I slide, slowly against your hot slick walls. You moan at my penetration and slap your hand against the hood. I like that, I like driving you mad.

As I push deeper, I can feel you grip and relax around my shaft, feel your wetness coat me, run down my sack, down my leg. I pull back now, slow as to feel every synapse, every nerve ending overload with pleasure. We both moan that time. I place one hand at the small of your back, holding you secure against the car, and my other hand soaks down on the hood, next to you, to hold me secure. You inhale sharply, hoping.

I slam my cock into you hard enough to shake the car, and again slam. My hardness finding purchase inside you deep with each vigorous plunge. My rough hand pinning you for each filling, every urgent, craven thrust. Each slap of skin, soaking our thighs. Your nails trying to dig into the enamel paint. Your cries and my snarls. Until I hear those words I fucking love fall from your lips…”Oh God! You’re making me cum!”

I feel you buck under my hand, I feel your legs kick and your cunt contract around me. I see you throw back your head and scream as the spectrum of fire envelops your flesh. I feel the flame rising inside my core. My hands suddenly grip your hips and one last plunge does me. I pump a stream of hot liquid into you. My cock twitches in tandem with your pussy. My legs, shaking, weak, my entire body sweaty.

Still inside you, I lean close and whisper in your ear, “That was wild! Thanks for letting me fuck you on your car.”

You smile, cooling your face against the cold hood, laugh that rummy, satisfied, post-cum laugh and confess, “It’s not my car.”




By Some Lustful, Celestial Power

Mainly, I sketch with words.

Catching glimpses of arousal, the essence of a moment, a glimmer of salacious fire.

A snapshot of lust.

Sometimes, I miss the mark. The light changes, the words escape me, the scene is lost to simple memory.

Once in a while, the gods smile upon me, and I capture a wet dream with such clarity, that the scent of sex fills the room, the tastes fill my mouth, the sensations electrify my skin.

As if the words were divined to me by some lustful, celestial power to gift, choosing this mortal as mere vessel for their sexual folly a delight.

I’m humbled when my writing seduces you, when my way with words entices you, when a turn of phrase brings you to a trembling edge.

That is why I continue to sketch, why my digital parchment will paint with sex and lust and all the colors of wanton, naked hunger.

I write to make us both cum.


I think it was that moment I was holding your ankle, white knuckle tight, up near my head.

The sweaty grip giving me the leverage we both craved, we both breathlessly demanded. “Oh, fuck.” was the phrase that left your lips. Not a scream, but an epiphany of sorts. A throaty acknowledgement of an overwhelming desire met. At the edge of the bed, your leg in the air and a sudden lusty rhythm created by my flesh into yours.

It was more than just the plunging depth or exquisite angle, it was the raw power, the forceful nature of my unyielding assault on your sensibilities. The animalistic desire in which you accepted me, pulled me in. This was pure fucking. Pure.

And we lost ourselves to all space and time in that primal moment.

Yeah, it was that moment

St. Punk of Jaded Urge


The tatted arms were nothing but a contrived ruse, camouflage for an urban blind, a hunt, a stalking.

Sleeved with ink, fueled with endorphins, driven by the waft of pheromones and alcohol and simple, unmitigated vitriol, I strike.

Understood by few, connected to fewer, I focus on you. Your pulse a droning, drowning focal point, your scent a beacon and a signal. May the powers that be have mythical mercy upon you, I will have none. And, sweetheart, you’ll still beg my shallow, jaded, punk rock facade for more and more and more. Like a needle to an aching vein, my taste of the product will keep you enraptured, enslaved, addicted. Hopelessly. Chase that goddamned dragon, honey! It. Will. Free. You.

We will laugh at the blurry world, a half-second behind its plasticine shimmer. Letting the hormonal reality of our private riot give notice to the sheep, the rabble, that WE, our union, it is what sticky, wanton history is made of! An affirmation to those who follow, that flesh is the power, the justice, the language of the free. Of the underground, the counter.

They may point and scowl at the art that marks our flesh, yet when our flesh touches, melds, our flesh forms the glyphs of lust and triumph and the poetry of unrefined, undefined base urge…realized.

Hail ecstasy, hail hedonism, hail life.

Fuck the rest. They deserve naught.

The Last Middle-Aged Baby Doll

You were crafted from smoke and necessity. Bad breaks and broken beds and bent over.

Fate’s unintentional, born again to busted lust. Wisps and faeries swaddling you in jaded armor, more grave than cradle. Utter self-immolation just beyond your grasp, and consistently escaping the bitter poison of warm contentment by just…that…much

Plundered, picked-over, discounted if counted at all. Judgement of your book, not by it’s cover, but it’s readers, turning your pages like tricks. Clumsy, half-hearted head in the alley-way followed by your tightly choreographed coronation at the debutante gala, leaving that other half of your heart on the gilded, confetti covered, ballroom floor. A silken glove, a sloppy rubber and your faded expectations, litter this refined killing field like acceptable loss.

Ride her, cowboy! You’ll buck and bray and fuck and pray, and mask your nights with full throttle and empty promise. But cowboys disappear like dust, like gold claims and feed lots and harlots of well scripted memory. A boy in a hat, a bareback rider, a throbbing prick in boots. Americana, cheap and flimsy, ready for the cameras, you the damsel, damn you.

You paint your pretty face with the baser things, redden your cheeks with the hard velocity of shame. Your claws as sharp as your dry wit, your eyes as wet as your cunt. The last middle-aged baby doll, some assembly…requited, love.

You’ll blow their brains out, tip to base, a tug and a shrug.

“Fuck you! I’ll fuck you all!” mouth your painted, parted lips, but the words never cum.

In The Harsh Morning Light

(one more from the vault…)

I’m lost in the oily sheen of my black, morning coffee and can still smell you on my skin, on my face.

They way you moved, the way you grooved to a tribal drumbeat of our own device. The tussle and playful, the beastly and possessed, the night.

Mapping you, discovering the treasured spots of Eros blessings across your supple curves. An adventurer’s spirit in the untamed wild of your bucking body.

You also charted a course within and without me. A tease, a tickle, a tangible torture, met by the eager subject that I became in your hands, at the Artist’s brush of your lips.

The delicate subtleties and wanton, willing atrocities we committed against each other, under the canopy of a black, satin sky, left us devilishly dazed and spiritually satiated. Left us marked and molded. Left us panting. Breathless. Obliterated.

And as the sheen of my coffee swirls and billows and grows cold in the harsh morning light, I’m lost in my own thoughts, and still smell you on my skin.