-- From Sleeping with Nefarious Intent As your nocturnal neighbor, I slide next to you in Winter, whispering across your breath, the South Wind's wildest words. When dawn warms the window glass, and marmalade flame transverse the ceiling, I carefully caress your lips with thinly sliced strawberry, and mango until you smell the fresh roast brewing in the kitchen and are ready to brace against the cold tile floor and shower steam. As you are now, stretched in graceful recline, I see illusion, projected on the silk of your skin by my mind; a rendering in my image. I stare to burn my eyes, to go blind, so I can see your-self, not my after-image. My what-you-ought-to-be's are tangled in your hair, my wishes constrict your hips bruising what is you. It is difficult to see with eyes unclouded by wish and ought-to's . Hard to recognize illusion; to realize that while I smell your perfume, and feel the heart beat of your thigh What I feel, is
...giving all the feels.