Bathroom Love

I wanted to try to keep it inside
But I just can’t hold it in anymore
There’s something I just got to let out
When I walk through that door
I can’t keep it back
I gotta let it flow
And there’s something that I gotta let you know

I’m trying to cram all the feelings I have
Between you and me
In a little song
But I’ve really got to pee

I wanted to be romantic
I wanted to let you know
The way I feel
I wanted you to feel the same way girl
So we both know that it’s real
But babe I gotta go now
There’s something that I must do
And I’ll be lighting a match
Before I’m through

I’m trying to wash away the stain
I thought I should do it on my own
I was holding it in so long
But I’ve really gotta sit down on that throne

There’s something I gotta share with you
But some things weren’t meant to be
And I can’t just wipe away the pain
Not a bidet goes by
I wish you could see
That my love for you goes on and on
Like love’s eternal candle
So I’m begging you woman
Please don’t jiggle the handle

Girl I know you hate to see me go
That’s why you need to close the door
That’s what all this love is for
So don’t just let it go down the drain


The Candle Flickers

A throttle to slow down and reverse, backing out of dead ends and alleyways, one way streets and cul-de-sacs. Typo? Negative. This sentence had the subject it needed, which is this sentence. Another sentence, the longest one yet, was soon to come to an end.

Sometimes love takes a while. A lifetime, or five minutes. Sometimes both. We had a false start, where our broken pieces stuck each other. We had to adjust and twist and fix ourselves a little bit, studying us to see how they could fit.

You study my depths so you can dive in them, exploring my darkest secrets. You touch my insides fearlessly, as your skin touches mine. Your eyes light up and I feel your power on my skin. The autumn leaves blow around us, cloaking us in shameless carnality. We are soaking wet, having splashed through that fucking water on our way to forever.

I tiptoe across your skin, leaving nothing but blue electric prints on your thighs and brilliant red marks crackling on your backside. I glide across your curves, taking the tight turns recklessly and risking crashing into you with abandon. Your lips are an open invitation to pleasure, which I willingly accept. My gift to you is sensuously thoughtful, the kind that keeps on giving. I keep on giving it to you, and you accept it eagerly and quickly. You bare your throat to me, asking me to leave a mark. You’ve left an impression on my everything.

We are the scholars teaching each other about life and love, and we always finish our lessons with high marks. Your course for me is hard, but I’m up to the task. I make you stay after, keeping you for private lessons. We realize the lessons we’ve already learned, and eagerly await new experiences. We profess our undying love, and learn each other’s bodies instead.


Cancel Sandman

Delete the dream police. Cancel sandman. The rain will soothe and cleanse. The audience pretends.

Void the mystic doormen. Bouncers bounce at Simon’s orders. The pain will groove and shred. The audience is dead.

Smile against the fire. Token esteem wasted in the first scene. The lovers will join your fight. The audience was right.

Scream into the twilight. Sunset boulevard car crash. The others set you on fire. The audience a choir.

This shadow isn’t big enough for the both of us. You’ll have to get into mine, or be left behind. Should have stepped up. Instead you messed up. And all the string and feelings and wine and music can’t fix it.

I can unbreak this egg. Can you unswallow that bitter pill?


Tai Chi or Chai Tea

Surreal pillow
Lay my head upon tonight
Up late anyway

Relaxation comes
When exhaustion settles in
Collapsed destiny

Tai chi or chai tea
Which will fill my cup, my soul
Dissolved entropy


Gardens And Your Body, Juxtaposed

The moon was new like our love
It was a drone summer
Gardens properly trimmed and sculpted
Growing next to a radiant pool
From which we both emerged
You lay down beside me
I touched the bottoms of your feet
Gliding up your Achilles’
Worshipping your golden calves
Orchids and Asiatic lilies grew quietly
I traced an imaginary stocking hemline
Up the backs of your thighs
A tiny breath escaped your lips
The topiary mimicked the rounded curves of your posterior
Birds sang about them both
I brought my lips to the small of your back
(They were jealous of my hands, you see)
You purred, and all avian life paused for a moment
How restless your skin
As wind moved leaves, and your hair
How the sun glinted off the water
And your golden skin
The light must have gotten in my eyes
I closed them, and my lips found their way
To your glorious throat
My hands took different paths
Examining crevices and corners
You moved your hair
I obliged willingly, kissing you just there, and there, and there
No sound but the waves
No one watches our careful exploration
No witnesses to our crimes of passion


Concerning Steve

The long tail of the sun set beneath the rocking chair of the clouds, before crawling under the blanket of the night. The sun was a cat, is what I’m saying. A cat in my living room. I’m God.

Steve God.

Not a lot of people really know my first name. Practically none. I have a few relatives, but I haven’t talked to them in a while. I think they may be up to something, though, because I keep hearing these voices on the wind, asking for various favors. It’s kind of annoying. I can’t give some guy a new car! I can barely afford the one I’ve got.

It’s refreshing, though equally annoying, when the favors are altruistic or affect a large number of people. I want to help starving people or people with cancer too, but I can’t. I’m not a doctor or a nutritionist or a billionaire. And forget helping sportsball teams win! I don’t care about it that much. I’m focused on trying to pay rent and run my little business over here in my corner of the world.

Some people might point out that there are no corners in a sphere, but there are. They’re metaphorical, bitches. Just like my powers to do fuck-all to help vast numbers of people, or people, or even a single individual, something that has been pointed out to me by the last 5 girlfriends I’ve had. I live modestly, sure. I don’t have the latest electronics or a huge mansion, but would it kill one of you ladies to look past that and see my good quantities? I’m not getting any younger here, and I’d like to have a Mrs. God before I turn 40. Even if she keeps her actual last name. And I wouldn’t blame her if she did.

Like my last girlfriend, Jennifer Betterthanyou. I would have to think (and drink!) long and hard before I could decide between being Ms. God and Ms. Betterthanyou. They both have their charms. Which reminds me, 2 or 3 girlfriends ago, one Mammaria Charms. That didn’t last long, because I got tired of saying “Yes! I fucking KNOW you’re up there, but you’re also down here!” Incidentally, ballsy name choice by Mr. and Mrs. Charms. That name could have easily fallen flat, so to speak.

There’s always The One That Got Away, and no, I’m not talking about kidnapping. In my case, it was the amazing Susie Universe. She was everything to me. It’s hard to talk about, but it was like she was the center of my… something. Like no matter where I looked, she was there. All around me, part of everything. Very hard to ignore. I’m not sure why we drifted apart, but it seemed like some unseen force was driving us in different directions, despite her being everywhere I was.

There’s an opposite to that, the What Was I Thinking? For me, it was Lisa Shit-Telescope. I really don’t know what I saw in her, but looking backwards, it wasn’t very good.

I have hope that someday I’ll meet Ms. Right, who will be Ms. God. Maybe Susie will come back? I don’t know. I just wish there was someone to ask for help. Someone who knew some people. Oh well – life goes on.


Date With A Nice Girl

He flipped through the channels, looking for something to watch. He was fond of home improvement shows, but this time he wanted something different. They were sitting together at home tonight, so he wanted something ‘they’ liked rather than something ‘he’ liked. He wanted everything to go well.

She came in the room, looking great as usual. Her hair was long and dark, her skin creamy white. Her eyes were captivating. She smiled at him and sat down beside him.

“I was thinking American Idol tonight. What do you think?”

“That’s fine, or Antiques Roadshow. I wonder sometimes if I’ll see anything I recognize.”

“What do you mean?”

“Nothing.” She smiled and gave him a quick peck. He hugged her tightly, and they watched. Someone sang badly, and someone sang well, and then there was a break. It was the usual show. He could see why Idol was tanking lately.

He felt a sharp pain in his neck.

“Ouch! What was that?”

“Oh, sorry. It’s my necklace. I’ll take it off. It has this setting and… sorry, really.”

“That’s okay. Come here, you!” He gave her a large kiss, but something wasn’t right with it. It was like one of those 1940s romantic comedy movie kisses – 30 seconds with no passion or tongue. He thought it could just be first date nervousness.

They went back to the horrible musical competition show already in progress. It was amazing sometimes how what ‘he’ liked was what he liked, but what ‘she’ liked and what ‘they’ liked were often identical – even on a first date. At least he was comfortable, leaning back against her, her arms around his chest, her hot breath on his neck, her-“

“Ouch! That hurts! Did you take off the neckla- OH MY GOD, what the hell? Are you kidding me? You’re a fucking vampire? Fuck.”

“I’m sorry! I thought we… It’s not what you think! You’re just so… You’re the Unbreakable One. You are the pinnacle of all men everywhere!”

“I can’t believe this. You’re such a bitch. Get out. Just get out.”

“Michael, I… Please? Can we just watch this sh-“

“GET OUT!!!”

She stood up and looked at him pleadingly, but he just looked away, shaking his head. He simply pointed at the door, never once returning her gaze. She walked out, a single red tear running down her cheek, and shut the door behind her.

Michael turned the channel to Design Closet Challenge. Fuck her, this was his house. He was so tired of all the werewolves and vampires and liches and witches and bitches! All trying to get in his soul’s pants, just because he was the Unbreakable One. Why couldn’t he just meet a nice girl and settle down? Were there any nice girls left? Even one? Maybe that Elvira who worked down at the coffee shop. She looked really cute.


I’m Not In Here With You, You’re In Here With Me


The Dance

One moves first
The other responds
It doesn’t matter

One says a word
The other a thought
It never crosses their minds

It was never confused
Never two halves of a whole
Never two lies

It hasn’t been a pause
Come together
And separate

Each is confident
In his own right
In her own way
The words flow across the page
He was sure
She was sure
They were uncertain
Of the other’s feel
Of exposing heart
Openly guarded
Secretly exposed

They move closer
Across the miles
Making changes to soul

Traveling so far
Across the sky
Delivering gifts of words

Shedding the strangeness
Shaping something
Totally undefined

Did he go too far
Did she go too far
Cautiously they begin

Each is troubled
By his own past
By her own demons
The passion flows across the page
He was dark
She was light
They became comfortable
With the empathy
With the steps and the song
With the movement and rhythm
Surprisingly full of grace

Now he finished her thoughts
Now she knew his mind
Now they started the dance

Moving this way and that
Steps so perfectly placed
While the music played on

Subtle changes in time
Shifts in their subtle steps
To no one’s surprise

Now a spin towards love
Now a step from their fears
Dancing closer with time

Each is tentatively happy
He can’t let himself go
She can’t let herself go
What will happen when the music stops
Will there be melancholy
Will there be sadness and pain
They had come to a point
He expected it
The shoulder tap
The cutting in
The spinning away


Bedroom Storm – Take Covers

Bashed you over the head with my feelings. I painted a picture with words, and a picture of words with paintings, painting word pictures on pages and walls and trees. Icicle frenzy gripped the monocle of the eye of the hurricane.

Tentative and certain, like a dance with the wrong music, I embrace your strangeness. Your brand of beauty is not available in stores. I couldn’t have tried more if I tried. You took me out of the friend zone, and put me in your bed with a whisper.

I whispered back silently, wordlessly, though I still used my tongue. You reacted just how I had hoped, and then some. Hope was the last thing in Pandora’s box, and I wanted to be the last thing in yours.

The hurricane looked away, blushing.