- Erotic Poetry
- Coffee Hauntings
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They come in quarantine morning dreams, my men,
the husbands, the boyfriends, even the dead.
Delinquent deeds and betrayals forgotten,
slumber allows absolution withheld when awake.
For months long denied, desires take center stage.
My hand snakes up the leg of my first, my lost, love.
Up, up, up, my hand gripping soft and hard fire. Ah.
There. There, remembering well its pleasure-pain girth.
I smile, he laughs, I nuzzle and burrow. He is fierce,
he is taking and taken, beautiful, alive here after all,
as I slowly sip my bittersweet coffee.
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