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.



your tongue envelopes

me like

tsunami tidal waves;

everyone should run for cover.


the crest of your lips crash

on my lustful heart;

my emotions run for shelter.


the arch of your back

breaks the barrier

I built for my heart.


gripping the roots

of your hair

for dear life

only intensifies

the situation.


my depression can’t handle

the transfer of energy

you’re hurling at

my fragile self.


the aftershocks have

me booking one-way

tickets on stolen


credit cards.


there’s no return from you;

lifeboats are deflated,

I’m hoping to drown in the riptide,

so i can die on a high note.



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.