Possessions

The clouds shake thunder, raging and

rattling empty bowls

at the dinner table where grace is placed on crumbs and

clasped hands hold on for decent life

 slicing half moons onto

planets where the men, crater faced and gently orbiting,

are always in the know.

She is swollen with hunger

as if Botero's bristles tickled her thighs and left shadows

at her armpits and between her double chins.

The pearls between her breasts lack luster

but accentuate the longing in her eyes

and that spot on the sternum where he pushed in his hand, hard

before the mixture set

so she could never not be his again.

                           28 March '13

Groupies

I’m knock-kneed, in that baseline bumping
your thump thumping
in a musty corner at the café
where I do my morning purge. Steep, sweeten and sip
slow

cinnamon topped foam, hot.
sweet burn on the tongue
like that time when…

I recall your thirsty whiskey eyes, your
fingertips
and the chasm they peeked their toes
over. steel-string rugged and
graze over my johnson&johnson thighs.

I could reach the other side but
I could drop down deep, too deep and far from home. Either way there’s no
landing
upright.

so
jump across, big boy, jump
fast and with purpose.