pink sky
just a thin strip
pale
silhouetted trees
the humidity
broken
gentle fingers
on skin
just a soft touch
hold
stay here night
stay
silhouettes moving
graceful
pink sky
thin strip of light
early dawn
stay here night
stay

i have misunderstood
the plum
such a thing
often overlooked
we feed each other slices
of sweet ripe fruit
collecting the juice
with our tongues
and sucking the extract
from our lips
tasting both fruit
and skin
this is our language
words have failed us both
it is primal
it is perfect
it is all we want
sticky fingers and lips
and the pit of a plum

under the covers
like children,
gigging.
we could build a fort,
line the insides with pillows
and innocence.
i lost this somewhere.
i tried to find my way back;
i wanted to explain,
to apologize.
but our language is
different now,
our tongues do not
meet as they once did.
yours is dry,
a language of
such bitter fruit.
mine is spliced,
and broken
with a lifetime of apologies
left unheard
and unanswered.
i’m returning,
slowly.
i am under the covers,
gaining innocence
in the fort i’ve built.
like a child
i’m learning a new language,
one that no longer
only apologizes,
one that is
no longer boxed by
worries or shaped
by fears of losing you,
for it is you
who have lost me.

i sat folding petals between

my fingers;

delicate around worn,

gentle through rough.

i asked,

will you remember

me like this?

“this is how i

will remember you!”


you responded,

with fire and nails.

will you remember

me as a lover

who placed lilies in


candlelight?

as a lover who


held their scent for us,

for our desire;

their scent for our craving,

their scent for our lust?

will you remember me

like that?

“this is how i

will remember you!”


you said;

with spit and venom.

i know now

you never had a lily petal for

a tongue.

you are too bitter

to house something so

beautiful in your mouth,

and too angry

to hold something so sacred

in your mind.

this is how i

will remember you.

i am distracted tonight
cars hum as they wind along rt1
the garden houses crickets
a thousand of them
and a dog barks endlessly
i want this
intimacy in the
common place
bodies together
in the ordinary
of life



For Eszter

trees touch the early blue of dawn.
these old fingers,
bent from life and seasons
of joy and work,
are still moved
by pleasures of youth.
i enter
and wake you softly.
you, still wrapped in sleep,
warm, with
gentle sighs that tell of dreams,
of worlds not understood here,
here in waking-life.
your body, perfect to me,
extends and stretches,
exposing warm flesh.
it unfolds
and i explore your figure
as if for the first time.
i breathe in your sleep,
tracing your being
with my lips.
my body presses against yours,
my erection
reveals my thirst.
in continuous lines
i draw you with my fingertips
so as to hold this forever.

For Jeremiah

(It has been one year since my breakthrough in France. For months after the experience, I referred to it as two things, 1) a breakdown and 2) an incident. Neither of these is how I view it now. It is a breakthrough. At the time, this was impossible to see, naturally. It was the most horrifying experience of my life. Even months afterward, I was disturbed and rattled by the events. I am aware now of what I witnessed, of what was presented to me. That which I cannot put into words, that which only appears in dreams and visions, speaks to me of such knowledge. Thus, the reason I regard it as an experience. I needn’t go into a lengthy explanation of why, as I am sure that it is evident. For a long time, I worried that another “incident” would occur. After my return from France, I had a chronic worry, an almost tingling sensation that another breakdown was just moments away. As the months passed and my perception shifted, I began to realize how powerful all that came to pass was. The doors had been opened; and it is now an experience that I hold sacred.)

i fold my energy around myself
embracing my being
i go within

i left something in france
in those mountains
deep in those mountains

who will i be
if i am no longer jeremiah

shedding layers
from autumn
to winter
to spring

i held on
there is such safety even in pain
i wanted to return to him
to bring him back

what would i be
who would i be

a twilight voice said

you will be you without being me
you will hold you and only you
of you you will be
for you you will be


it was in the new year that i awoke
sometime in the early hours
in the dim light i opened my eyes
and saw myself
i witnessed myself

i am no longer jeremiah

though i insisted

come with me
i can’t be me without being you
who will i be without being you


again the twilight voice spoke

you will be you without being me
you will hold you and only you
of you you will be

for you you will be

in the dim light of the new year i finally awoke
in the early hours i opened my eyes
and i saw myself
i witnessed myself

i am no longer jeremiah

01:00. Quiet. This, to me, is the most sacred time. Gentle breaths. Every part of the skin is aware of the stillness. I never liked the night. My fears would always find me. Now I long for it. I can strip down and be as I wish. I can witness without judgment and hold myself. I reach out to dreams now, and open to them, let them fill in the questions and unknowns. The stillness holds space, and the night, it grants me freedom not felt in the day.