For I have torn the hearts of women
and made murals to their chagrin.
So why should I expect glory for my handiwork
when I have earned these distrustful glances.
For those that once grieved of me, rejoice.
For I now drown in your hot, tepid tears.


Each of us desires to be remembered.
For our legacy to be given breath
after we take our last.
Bound by some eternal code
that demands we not be forgotten.
Each of us destined for death,
yet seeking immortality.

Between Sanity

Somewhere beyond sanity
in a mental abyss
tainted by the murky remnants
of my pride and insecurities–
my soul drift.

Pregnant from the watery poison,
it darkens in hue
and sags.

A Second of Clarity

Sometimes I feel as if I’m light years away from myself,
even though I am myself
or at least pretend to be somedays.

Somehow I occupy this space,
mentally and physically
yet simultaneously leave it deserted like a forlorn passenger
sailing along the winds.

Waiting Games

How long should I linger after we’ve said goodbye?

A moment? A day? A year? A lifetime?
I watch your figure wane in my mind’s eye
while I build you a shrine in my memory.

Oh how fickle we are.
Look how you curse and beckon me in the same breath.
Am I still as handsome as you remember?
How does my name taste against your cheek?


There was violence in her nostrils
and her words, like talons, mauled my ego.
Adorned in fury and draped in scorn,
her regalia scented with stale words and broken promises.
Remorse and regret were her jewelry
and she suffered great expense.
Damned am I.
For her opulence is my death.
Damned, damned am I.
To have created that which will devour me.

Silent Conversations

Our lips collide, necessary and sure.
Two planets careening,
as violently as clouds passing by.

She takes my bottom lip between her teeth
and I let her feast.
She is ravenous and only I can satiate her.

Her hips and butt beg for guidance;
so I oblige, and master her geography
with my palms and fingers.

Sum of Beautiful

Perfection is too damned a thing to desier.
So, I pen epithets that lack adjectives and
archive poems that describe both
the intangible and unnatural.
For what I have known,
no man can translate or comprehend.
How Earth and heaven and sea and Hestia
have congealed into one being.

Sweet Calypso

Goddess of the sea
who quells men’s hearts to a flutter
beneath an ocean floor of desire
and lust.

She bid me come swim in her pool
and float beneath her carnal crests
as she laps against my skin
with ephemeral kisses.


To truly love…
is to inhale the depths
knowing that your lungs will burst.
Journeying into the unknown
with no intent to return
and no compass to
lead you on.
Dancing amidst the void,
with no melody and
feet blistered.

Truly Yours

I like writing to you
at night.
Soft and clandestine.

I am unfamiliar with myself,
so I craft these notes for our benefit.

Sleep swiftly,
my dear.
Parade on lighter thoughts


I, too, sing America.

What a cold, grisly, murderous sound.