Just for Now
I surrendered
to the constant,
that was the cradle
of your arms,
rocking me to sleep—
like the ebb and flow
of a restless tide,
that never tired
or stopped to think,
how kisses flowed
from silent lips,
beneath sighing trees
our love complete,
no questions posed
in happiness found—
how rare it is to find
the impossible,
if just for now
and only once.
All About You
I love how you take control, your eyes staring into mine. My hard cock throbbing beneath the grip of your tight fingers. Long legs straddling my waist. Your fierce smile giving way to a loud moan as you grind your wet pussy against my waist. Fucking me not for love, or even my pleasure. This is all about you and I wouldn’t want it any other way.
Blue Skies
We are like hot-air balloons. To fly—we first have to cut loose the deadweight that is holding us back.
In Letters Sent
The things I wrote
in letters sent,
to fall in love
the words intent,
each sentence came
and sadly went,
my soaring heart
now in descent,
to crash and burn
in life’s torment.
Just Another Word
A patch of green
on desert sand—
made me think
about us,
how we came together,
our arms spanning an ocean,
reaching out,
never giving up—
even when hope
seemed like a distant concept,
just another word.
I Miss You
My pen knows no limit when it comes to expressing my love for you, but when we’re apart, I miss you beyond words.
Tokoriki
Here it is—
my island,
the sweet scent
of frangipani,
carried in the arms
of a gentle breeze,
serenaded by a sea—
beating a slow rhythm
on a golden drum.
How beautiful the moon—
rising in balmy skies,
where stars tumble
into luminescent waves
breaking on a distant reef.
Your body bathing
in its light,
skin the color
of silver,
reading Murakami
by candlelight.
Memories—
like a siren’s song,
calling me back
to this place,
where lovers
come home.
A New Beginning
I read this morning that NASA had discovered a new planet capable of life. Somewhere faraway in another galaxy. A tiny blue dot found by a giant telescope. “A New Beginning,” the headline screamed.
Of course, all the enthusiastic words conveniently sidestepped the inconvenient truth. The reality of the hundred or so years it would take to reach this potential new home with our current technology. Which got me thinking, imagine if we could just click our fingers and magically travel there in an instant. Depart this dying planet we call Earth and start living in some new paradise. Would we?
A question I neatly folded into the back of my mind and took with me to lunch. Sitting in the pretty courtyard of my favorite restaurant, La Luna, which served the most wonderful Italian cuisine. The wine list alone was incentive enough to visit. A collection of rare and dusty bottles gifted to the place by a wealthy Italian countess in her will. The entire contents from her expansive cellar, which sat beneath a medieval castle. Just one of the many homes she owned back in the ’80s.
Sophia lit a cigarette, a habit she had still failed to break throughout countless New Year’s resolutions. Blowing the smoke upward into the warm afternoon air.
She was wearing a white flowing dress that accentuated her summer tan and flame-red hair. A pair of Karen Walker sunglasses framing her pretty face and pink lipsticked lips.
“So pleased you managed to get a table outside and one with plenty of shade,” she said smiling.
It was, in my humble opinion, one of the better tables in the courtyard. Tucked neatly away in the far corner, underneath a crooked olive tree whose branches reached over the ivy-clad brick wall. A perfect spot for lovers to chink glasses with starry eyes, or spies to trade dark secrets, or in our case, two close friends who loved to talk about all manner of nonsense.
“Well, I thought we were long overdue a decent lunch,” I replied, eyeing the pack of Jolly Rogers lying next to her Hermès purse with envy. I took out a shiny new silver contraption from my light blue linen jacket and quickly took in two deep lungfuls of clove vape juice.
“Finished your book last night,” Sophia said, grinning. “Loved it. I think it’s the best you’ve written. More reflective, much deeper, and I’m relieved you resisted to jump on the poetry bandwagon and fill it with just six-word, incomprehensible sweet nothings and lazy metaphors.”
I had recently received an advanced copy of my new book, Cult of Two, from the publisher, and as always, I had given it to Sophia to read for her no-holds-barred opinion.
“Oh, I think I’m just as guilty of writing the odd one-liner. So much can often be said with so little,” I replied, taking another hit of vape and laughing.
“Yes, but you know what I mean. A lot of what’s written today and called poetry is little more than senseless fluff, meaningless drivel.”
“That’s a bit harsh. Some of it is pretty damn good and it’s wildly popular with a lot of people.”
Sophia laughed. “Yes, I guess you’re right. I am guilty of sometimes hate reading books.”
“Well, since you’re wearing your bitchy hat, what do you honestly think about my latest book?”
“I told you. I loved it. The poetry seems a lot more introspective, real, and the prose is beautifully melancholic and thought provoking. It reads like you’ve gone up a level. Lifted your game. You really should stop dithering and write a fucking novel.”
The waiter politely interrupted us, pencil poised, and ran through the specials of the day.
I chose the platter of calamari to share and the smoked salmon linguini. Sophia removed her sunglasses, scanned the menu quickly and selected the slow-braised lamb shoulder served with roasted seasonal vegetables. A stunning bottle of Pietracupa Greco di Tufo on the side.
Our glasses were quietly topped up with sparkling water and the waiter slipped away, moving in between the crowded tables like a champion ballroom dancer.
Sophia took a sip of water and lit another cigarette. I couldn’t resist it any longer. I reached across the table and I took one from the pack.
“Here you go,” she chuckled gleefully, flicking her gold lighter with expert dexterity, its flame mocking my lack of willpower.
No matter how much I had tried to convince myself otherwise, no amount of sickly sweet vape juice and plumes of fake smoke could come close to the real thing.
Old habits die hard.
—
As usual, the food was amazing. I watched with some regret as our waiter took away our empty dessert plates, leaving behind just our wine glasses, the bottle of wine, and a clean ashtray.
Sophia leaned back in her chair and sighed.
“If only we could eat like this all the time. I mean, imagine being ab
le to afford having your own personal chef to whip up delicious treats whenever you felt like it. Now, that would be like living in a perfect world.”
I reached for another cigarette from Sophia’s pack, lit it, and blew a smoke ring.
“Speaking of perfect worlds, I read an interesting article this morning. Apparently NASA has discovered a new planet capable of life.”
“Really? Well, what are we waiting for, let’s go!” Sophia said, laughing.
I topped up our wine glasses and fired off the question that had been spinning around in my head all day.
“At the moment, it would take decades to travel to it, but what if you could just click your fingers and be there? Would you go? I mean on the basis that this new planet was already set up for living, just like Earth but without all the pollution, wars, and other miserable stuff. A new beginning.”
Sophia drained the wine from her glass and gave me one of her infamous intense stares. “And where’s the inevitable ‘but?’ You’re selling the dream and it sounds a little too good to be true.”
“Okay, here’s the but. It’s a one-way trip. No going back. You have to leave all your family and friends behind. A brand new start.”
“Ha! I can already see a plot hole in your question,” she replied. “Why couldn’t they just click their fingers too and come with me?”
“Yes, yes, I know. Fair point. I guess this hypothetical question is more about the choice of living in a possible utopia versus remaining in a morally bankrupt world.”
“It’s a ridiculous question and a loaded one. I would obviously choose to stay given that choice. I couldn’t bear the thought of leaving my family and friends behind no matter how marvelous this new planet was or could be.”
I stubbed my cigarette out and poured another wine. Sophia’s answer sparked another thought.
“Makes me think of how terrible it must be for refugees. How they often have no choice but to flee their homes and seek refuge overseas in some new country that is totally alien to them. Far away from family and friends. Everything they have ever known.”
“I think we can never truly know just how traumatic that must be. Even if it is to a safer place than the one they have been forced to leave behind,” Sophia said, the sadness clearly visible on her face.
“I agree. It’s incomprehensible. Unless you have walked in their shoes you honestly have no idea.”
“Puts our petty problems into perspective,” Sophia said, reaching for my hand across the table. “We are so blessed to live the lives we do.”
Sophia was dead right.
—
It was a stunning sunset. A giant melting sun gripping hold of puffy tropical clouds before letting go and collapsing into a calm sea.
A refreshing, cool breeze blew through the open window of Sophia’s bedroom—the scent of salt and seaweed in the air.
I always felt at peace here. In the little beach house that overlooked the half-moon shaped bay. A private sanctuary hidden away high on a hill, where palm trees and whistling birds completed the pretty picture.
“A penny for your thoughts,” Sophia said.
“I love this place,” I replied, turning away from the window to meet her dreamy gaze. “Almost as much as I love you.”
She was sitting up in the bed, a white sheet wrapped around her, covering her nakedness.
“Oh, stop it. Don’t start getting all sentimental. Where is my cynical poet? My Mr. Misery?”
“I wouldn’t call myself cynical, just perhaps a realist. And as for being a misery, I consider myself an optimist actually.”
My response made Sophia burst out laughing. “Ha! Who are you trying to convince? Not so long ago you were entertaining the idea of packing your bags and heading off to that new planet.”
I felt a witty reply building inside my head but before I could deliver it, Sophia beckoned me back to the bed with her finger.
“Let’s continue this conversation in bed,” she said grinning. “My legs can’t wait to hear what your hands have to say.”
—
It was past midnight.
We sat on yellow-striped deck chairs in Sophia’s garden staring at the full moon. Taking swigs from a bottle of rum. The perfume of sex clinging to our warm skin. It seemed like our friendship had set sail on a different course. One that didn’t need a map or compass to find paradise.
Sophia handed me my book, opened to a page marked by a folded corner.
“It’s one thing to read a book but quite another to hear the voice behind the words speak them,” she said, lighting a cigarette and blowing the smoke into the night air. “Read to me, my love, and please never stop.”
—
Beneath the Desert Stars
I found myself
beneath the desert stars,
far away—
from a world
where love existed,
lost in conversation
with a silent
constellation,
wishing you
were mine.
Why is it so—
when hands let go,
it is the heart
that holds on tight,
like the final flicker
of a fading star—
taken by the light.
Wisdom
Wisdom—
it is said,
comes with the passing of years,
but it seems nothing
is really learned,
between the lines dug
on a furrowed brow,
the repeated mistakes
neatly buried,
by my own hand—
while yours continues
to push the plough.
Live Your Life
Don’t live your life based on other people’s expectations. Listen to the person who knows you best. You.
Respect
So she gave
you a smile,
but that’s no excuse,
to justify
your unwanted
attention.
It’s just an illusion,
your fucked-up delusion,
not a permission
to take her to bed.
It’s time
to respect,
instead of expect,
to acknowledge
the wrongs
of the past.
And when she
says no,
you know it
means no,
and just once
it needs only
be said.
I Was Wrong
For years I convinced myself that my actions were driven by sound judgment and unwavering confidence. I was wrong. It was my stupid ego that led me down this lonely road to nowhere.
Take Not
Take not what is mine
to never give,
for this heart
is a ring
on another’s finger,
just leave me be,
free my thoughts
from this temptation,
hear my cry
for quiet mercy,
please—
just one more kiss
before you go.
Friday Epiphany
It is rare to find an unhappy fool but all too easy to spot a miserable genius.
Truth or Dare?
Truth or dare? How we loved to play that party game as teenagers. No matter which one we chose, it was just all a bit of fun. No serious repercussions. Except perhaps that time when Mark jumped off the shed roof and spent the rest of the summer break with his leg in plaster. Even when Penny admitted she had a crush on her sports teache
r, Miss Waddle, I think that was her name, we all just shrugged it off with howls of laughter.
Whatever happened to those innocent times?
When did it all change?
How did we end up here?
Straitlaced and judgmental. Boring adults who bite their lips before speaking. Too afraid to say what we really think and feel. Tiptoeing our way through inane dinner conversations. Playing a brand new game. Where telling the truth has become the ultimate dare.
A Love This Strong
When the last drop of youth has been sipped, and we become like autumn leaves, waiting patiently for that final gust of wind to blow—the love we share will only grow stronger.
The Birthday Party
A frosty white
paints morning grass,
the crunch of footsteps
startling crows,
a black cloud rising
in misty gray,
a veil worn thin
by winter sun,
a fallen love
marked by a marble cross,
white roses placed
on scattered leaves,
from trees laid bare
by death’s release,
another year—
no candles burn,
no cake is cut,
no wishes blown,
our happiness tied
with ribbons red,
the gift you gave
once made for two,
I now give back
to you—
alone.
It’s My Life
Who are you to tell me what to do and how to live?
Stop thinking your mistakes are mine to own. Take back the cracked mirror you so arrogantly hold up to my face and remember who broke it in the first place.
Leave me the fuck alone to build my paper castles.
Or burn them to the ground.
Carousel
The relationship was going nowhere but that’s what I loved about it. Uncomplicated and predictable. Like riding on a beautiful carousel with a pocketful of coins.
Your Voice
How I longed to hear your voice again, my hand beneath the sheets, eyes slowly closing—listening to every single word. It wasn’t just what you said, but how you said it, that kept me up at night.
Winter of Summers Page 3
