Sleep With Me

Sleep with me,
Crawl into my bed
Share my pillow
Let me hold you
Cradle you to my breast
Stroke your hair,
As tension melts from
Your form.
Allow me to whisper
Truths of your soul’s
Beauty into your ear
As your eyes drift shut,
As your breathing
Becomes even,
As sleep takes you in.


Caught, snared, captured
Hopeless or hopeful?
Her eyes found me
Sought me, kept me
Held me in their gaze
All things swayed out of focus
Shifted, just left of center
Left us in the middle
Alone, together, alone.
Penetrating, seeking, searching
Her eyes bore into me
Rousing secrets I’d buried
Stories I’d forgotten, searching
Holding, prodding, held.
Was she in my world, or was I in hers?
Her eyes, those eyes, portals
I was most certainly in hers.
Someone spoke,
Portal to her world closed
All things shifted, swayed
Placed me back into my world
Alone, ever, alone.


I hate when people say that they “care about me” or when women call me their “friend”. It always seems like a cop out. Like they are dancing around words which hold far more meaning. Words they are too afraid, too cowardly to say. And I hate it.


A fever has me in it’s grips. My skin burns as hot as stirred embers, yet my blood runs cool through my veins.  I sweat and yet I shiver. 

In spite of this, it is not water, nor medicine I crave, but the touch of another’s flesh.  The feel of soft curves curled up beside me, the sight of long smooth lines glistening in the moonlight. 

Closing my eyes, I trace the line of her body from the tip of her ear down, ever so happily down to the base of her perfectly shaped hip.  I crave a woman.  A woman in all her glory.  Perhaps that is the only thing to heal me.


She wants to know why I can’t talk to her.  How do I explain to her that my mouth is full of cotton, she asks me questions and I spit out fibers in place of words.  She is filled with brilliance. It drips from her lips every time they part.  How do I explain to her that I ache for genius to flow from my being.  I want nothing more than for her to look at me and see a reflection of herself shining through.  She is my highest reverence. I am of little or no consequence to her, and that fact makes my heart ache.

She tells me that she doesn’t understand my behavior.  Doesn’t understand why I say the things I say.  How do I articulate my insecurities?  How do I map out the ways in which I overcompensate for the areas I come up lacking?  That is where my behavior stems from. That is why I do the things I do, but that is not answer enough, doesn’t spell out the ways I let her down, let myself down.


I look up at the night sky and
She is the first thing to pop into my head,
I think the same cliche thing which all lovers think
Is she looking at the same stars thinking of me ?
No,  probably not. 
She’s probably at home, tucked sweetly in her bed,
With me far from her thoughts.
Far, distant and fading, steadily away.


I am not sure how we got here.  I am not sure where we will go after this.  There is no turning back.  I am certain of nothing.

Nothing except real or imagined, I never want this moment to end.  The beautiful culmination of all of our sorrows, our struggles, our laughter, our experience.

Feeling, finally feeling the softness of your flesh merged with my own. The hot wetness of your sex pressed, wanting, against my knee.  Rocking gently – a quiet request which I cannot deny. 

My hands are no fools.  They are not wild as with previous lovers, but slow.  Slow and cautious.  Moving up and down your body, cataloging every dip, every curve, freckle and mark.

These hands are my eyes.  Cupping and stroking; leading the way for my mouth to follow.  Tasting every inch of your flesh. 

Does your right elbow taste differently than your left ?  These are the things I must discover. Curiosity must be satisfied. 

I will know you.

My mouth is impatient.  It does not want to wait for my hands, to reach its treasure. 

It follows the trail of sweat, finding its way to your swollen, wet, lips.  I kiss them softly.  Coaxing them open with the promise of my tongue.

Running it from the base of your sex to the top, stopping just below the clitoris.  Gently, ever so gently, I repeat.  Each time, with a bit more force, pressing my tongue into you.  I taste the sweet tang of you.  I am consumed.

It is all that I can do to keep myself composed.  How sweetly you moan with my head between your thighs.  How seductively your body moves, instructs, guides. 

I am your student.  Show me, mold me, teach me.

Your hand clutches the back of my head, pulling me in, deeper, deeper.  My tongue is ravenous.  I feel I am drinking from holy waters. 

Warmth pools between my legs, throaty cry escapes my lips, slipping inside of you.  An invitation to join my coming, which you graciously accept – elation.