Play with my heart.


I like it when you play with my hair

play with my mind. play with my heart.

make me feel beautiful while my

skin is still soft. eyes are still bright.

hips are still round.

I like it when you kiss me right there.

kiss me all over. play with my hair

Make me feel wanted when my

heart is still young.  mind is still

soft. needs are still shallow.

I like it when you touch my face

and feel my lips with your tongue

with your cheeks.  with your breath.

Make me feel sexy when I’m having a

bad day.  when I trip and fall.

when you look at me that way.

Written Thursday, 8.8.02.


This poem is in another post, Fun it is to be loved.

Compost you and me.

It’s been decided.

I’m un-invited to the possibility.

You won’t give chase to the chance that
this could be something worth talking about.

Worth fighting about.

Because it has to be perfect, and smooth, and expected.

That’s where the opportunity over-ripens
and is smooshed beyond usability.

Compost is the option.

Compost you and me.

Written Monday, November 5th, 2012 @ Flowers, U District, Seattle, WA.


I had a dream

last night.

You were in it;

I was there.

We were together

by an open window –

the stars were out

in your eyes.

The smell of bougainvillea

whispered kisses

on our noses;

you said I could

lay my head on your shoulder,


you said,

“I don’t want to fall in love.”