Twisted Sisters

Walk with a mirror
under your nose
and mushroom lights
jump up to divert you
until your feet
find the vacuum
of space and you suddenly
are afraid of the abyss
made above the stairs
and you have to peek
just to be sure
that it’s alright
to step up
when you know
you could fall
into the fathoms below
but it’s better than
the other childhood game
that lava melted your feet
until laughter succumbed you
both safe on the couch.

But it just isn’t the same
when you are alone and forty.

To Kill a Mocking Bird

She taunts me,
her pecking call
digging into my soul,
Hitchcock style.

Cage the rage
of my bully,
and set free
the sweet melodic,
independent tone
of my lifted wings.

Sugar, Sugar

You’ve got me
wanting more,
a linguist feast
for the soul,
a plate to lick,
a finger
in the frosting.

Succubus, I crave
words to melt
on the tongue,
to haunt rethinking,
to taffy twist
what thoughts
you knew.

Thesaurus addict,
I can’t be cured,
only left to wallow
in delicious words,
inviting you
to taste.

Free Form

I wish my emotions
could be boxed
or counted
neatly organized
by letter or number
but they chose
to slither
viscous and elusive
flowing into crooks
and crannies
until there is no more
place for the tears
to go but out
dressed to the nines
disguising themselves
as poems.

Red Light, Green Light

There is a spot on my neck
that tickles when you kiss it
and I have to giggle
and turn away from you.

Stop that.

I need you to find the place
that calms when you kiss it
and I have to moan
and turn here into you.

Start that.

Framed in Blood Red

The Etch-a-Sketch
could draw me in
enticing my flexing fingers
to anticipate the feeling
of the erratic twisting
of its creamy knobs.

Hours would pass
before my neck would lift
in a final decision
to wipe it all clean
by flipping it over
and shaking it senseless.

My desire to leave
my artistic mark
with those jagged lines
of metallic entrails
retracing my thoughts
was again proven worthless.