You are mistaken. I am not your North Star, consistently waiting and redundantly home; stagnantly eking boiled potatoes and salted herring, and all things hearth and home.   This latitude points me to terrestrial delights and a container of carnal confections. Plying into my fleshy grove of histories, complex and heady, rising, mounting, and liberating; You rewrite my testament.   We desecrate hallowed sheets when you a...

Top Shelf Baby You’re swagger that slays me But baby, back down from the top shelf. We’re driving too fast past the city lights because you just like to hear me scream. I know the way you need me without the frills of wealth, I don’t need big carats or trips to Tropez Because I have you in your vintage Vuarnets, peeping at me over the tops.   Come down under the covers; let’s dive away within one another. We’re the same w...

Socialite Stella Quest never once made Santa’s nice list; not that she tried too hard.  She found being naughty much more fun. So much fun that after her most recent Christmas Day escapade of debauchery, her daddy carted her onto his private jet with one hastily packed bag and a one way ticket to Germany for two weeks of self reflection and meditation at what she thought would be a luxurious mountain ski retreat.  Which i...

You, Eros.     Left me by the crisp pool, too much sunblock running in rivulets down my back, stomach, Slowly down fat fat double cream thighs. You, too rich for my palette when I like my chili-dog with ketchup You licked above my upper lip.   I watched the horizon for a sign you’re back. Waiting on a plastic Adirondack - nipples tight, knees loose, boombox so wet. Popping stale bubble-gum behind glitter heart sunglasses...