I wake to the taste

of summer 6 months from now,

on the other side of the world.

Or is it, 6 months before

as I lay in the arms of another man


reading you like poetry,

metaphors overlapping on lusted limbs,

and I, getting the meaning all wrong.




M. Roberts




My naked mouth whispers
An inaccessible tangle
Of forgotten God’s
As our bodies curve
In places where quiet flowers grow.
I will not watch anymore,
I know the way your husband eyes
Follow me back to the earth.

Evening Soliloquy

I watch my contentment, painted on the cheek of sunset

Contemplating the last of his shadow imprint as it

Chases bird choruses westward, asking for wind

That only briefly touches his sonorous embrace.

I love the silence flung from his city shoulders

Crowning the space where tepid conversations

Traced the patterns of my mouth,

Mouth stained with the hum of red

And ardently falling on the applause of his eye.

Life is like poetry; loving isn’t about capturing the muse.

Some words, are so unnecessary.