the need

the moon beckons
my thoughts, my needs, my skin

it is at times like this
when whispers become growls
and howling flesh
claws at the sedate and senseless
concrete coffin
in which i all too often repose

now when I feel
oh most sincerely, most sensually
the man in me
the primal carnal beast in me
chained too long
restrained beyond my wits’ ends

and I cannot give
a monkey’s about what it means
to don this suit
and mew over mealy mouthful
droppings of decorum
that daily masquerade as civility

now is the time
when this pricking skin stretches taut
over pulsing veins
needing to touch, to taste every
sweet inch of you
thrusting to fill you within

for this, too, is me
this is the very needful man in me


feed me

The growl that emanates from your throat
is hardly one of anger, I know,

for I sense the heat rising from your skin
and feel the tremors within me,

a trembling excited by this increasing need,
this feeding frenzy of ours.

Oh, be this ever enticing precisely prowling you,
carve your desire into my bare chest,

even as your words scorch my nascent soul
with new life that others fear.

Every day I am yours, wandering the streets
sweating across the sheets

of a once barren bed, bereaved yet reborn
beyond the scorn of heedless loss.

Tease me erect, grasping your hand firmly
around me, urging my pleasure.

For this moment has been one preying intent
above all else and all other need—

that you climb over my eager hungry mouth
and, my glorious love, feed me!

whole once more

I imagine you
so feelingly, treeing
my need in the very
highest branches,
breaking the bounds
of my fears.

Call to me, Love
and I will descend,
need me, and I am yours
for broken still
this swaying soul
cries for you.

The air chills me
stills my heart once more,
yet the very thought of,
my dearest, you
shatters so carefully
this shell of doubt.

And I am whole
once more.

[inspired by the talented writing of Lia at

if i could only

if i could only
whisper distant
my life for her
i surely would

these ponderous
moments seek
her radiant spirit
foully to entomb

a fetid darkness
that cowardly clings
to her pale skin
with such greed

she who knows
the native worth
of flesh and soul
and limpid voice

she who in pain
ungrudging cradles
each chilling night
into glorious dawn

you who know her
may yet find her here
in honest lines
and striving tones

but wounds are cruel
and time fleeting
as snowflakes floating
beneath the sun

yet if only needful i
could bleed this heart
willingly into hers
know that i would

Salt Lake City 21 Jan 2013