The poem hunter 

By the end of some days I hunt words for you. Small gifts at the parting of the day. Not unlike the occasional dead bird made as a peace offering from the pet cat. So I look for poems. I look for verses or passages. I look for pages in between the binds of books….

Her, Her, Her… or Why I Love Caitlyn Siehl

    It has been one year since the beginning of the end. In a few weeks we would have annihilated each other with fear, with sex, with imminence, with urgency, with too much love. For you, my love, who know who you are, turn soft. Be brave for the right reasons. Learn that love…

Why I love… Jennifer Mueller

“After they’re gone, loved ones have a way of remaining with you, like the thick silence that settles after an unwelcome question. Even what should be happy, relieved thoughts become heavy and fraught. She always hated when I sang. I always took it as an editorial comment, but I sang anyway — and prepared for…

This is not a poem. This is a goodnight kiss.

This is not a poem. This is not a letter. This is not a plea. This is a negotiation. This is a good night kiss. This is what I have in mind. Open slowly for me, like stitches coming undone, One at a time, soft and sweetly cut under the swift nick of the blade. Make…

Having a word with Frida Kahlo

Dear Frida, I once had a lover who looked at me like maybe I was magic. And I hung everything on that maybe, When they weren’t looking at me at all. Maybe you were talking about a mirror, Frida.   Because I no longer want a lover who looks at me that way. And I…

A mess of me. A mess of you.

“I promise to kiss every mole that has taken a space on your body, lose count and start again.” “Tell me you mean that.” “I do.”   I do not know how you so effortlessly unravel the core of my vulnerability like a ribbon. Now I search for you in the middle of the night,…

Setting fire to the night

  All this love, all this love for you – I don’t know if it even reaches you but by god, it must light up the night sky. You once told me you imagined my love coming forth like an ‘arado’ – a plough ripping the earth open making its way to you. But I…