a distinct smell and vague memories

waking up to

lipstick stains

on my sheets

(and other places),

i don’t notice

the aroma of

cheap wine


smoked substances

that are

soaked in the walls

and air conditioner filter

until my return

from an unsuccessful

trip for fresh water;

where’d you go?

were you even here?

traces of your presence

are outlined in my bed,

which i slowly

retrace with my fingertips.

scant memories begin

to reveal themselves:

veins pulsating in your

exposed neck –

head tilted back –

bottom of your

chin to the ceiling,

eyes rolled back in your head,

both your hands on the

back of my head

gripping the

suffocating product

in my hair,

contributing to the

uncontrollable shaking

between your thighs,

blood rushing to

all the zones

where blood doesn’t

even flow (adding some

color to your light skin

and new words to your

first, second,

spoken, and

unspoken languages).

yeah, i’m pretty sure

you were here;

question is:

why aren’t you here right now?

perhaps drinking another

bottle of cheap wine

and smoking a packed pipe

will enlighten me;


what else do I have to do,

except continue,

to think




Pillow cases

I can’t write you a

short poem

or enough words to fill a

138 page novel

but I can write you something

half of that


much less.

I didn’t see you

enough today

in my mind,

or in person,

or in my bed.

a glancing smile

won’t do anymore;

I need your

snoring, drooling,


face on my pillow

every morning,

especially if I’m

ever to

write something

meaningful about you.


following the trail of tasty air

alluring aura

follows your



(always cold) –

walk by me again,

walk beside me again,

clasp your hand with my hand,

let me take you to another land.

Is it your perfume?

Is it your lotion?

Or is it just you?

Whatever it is,

I got the cure for

what ails you

(and it’s not a lozenge).


i remember when

i remember when

you stared at me


and when

my words

made you wet



i was silent.

i soaked it all up

like a deserted


longing for



down your

inner thighs,

i licked it

all up,

better than

any dessert

and any


your juices

possessed me;

i became addicted.



cinnamon butter,

sugar cane juice

i squeezed all

the love i could,



but it was

always one way;

i took,

you gave,

you loved,

i played.

i’m sorry.


love needs tears and i can’t cry anymore

every tear i’ve

shed for the



prevents me


pursuing you.

make no mistake,

all pure love

requires buckets

and buckets

of joyous and sad


but i have no more

to offer,

so, please…

go find that

one with

the tallest water towers;

you deserve all the tears this world can hold.


drying up

laying here

in a sheetless bed

wanting to speak

with you

about my contempt

for everyone

and everything,


sun beaming

through the

blunt burned holed


colored curtains,


dried red cough syrup

crusted on my beard

and pillow

and face mask,


maybe it’s the cheap wine

and unfiltered smokes,


or the three kids and four dogs

balanced on the speeding



that have led me to this point.


but i’m starving for your

attention and approval


so while i wait for a sign,

not just your sexy

glances and smiles,


I’ll run to the local

convenience store

for some instant noodles

and a boiled egg


and more cheap wine.