The scent of you lingers, in the air as I snuggle in deeper into the blanket, I breathe you in.

My mind is a sea of cotton candy after being taken to the heights of ecstasy in your arms just moments ago.

I smile at the remembered taste of your lips upon mine, we devoured one another till our passion rose to a fevered pitch.

Funny how one perfect kiss can change…everything.

I can still feel your rough work calloused fingertips caressing my soft supple skin. Goosebumps begin to surface where your fingers once were.

I don’t know what turned me on more the sheer contrast between your fingertips and my bare skin, or the fact that your hands only got that way because you were providing for your family.

I stretch like a lazy feline, already missing the weight of you across my body, as I inhale you in once more.

With my body now aching in only the most delicious spots, it becomes heavy and I begin to drift off, anticipating our next “nap time” while the scent of you lingers on your pillow long after it has grown cold.






I couldn’t think of anything today so I thought I would share a poem I found called DOLDRUMS OF TANTRUMS BY THE TWILIGHT ZONE.

The moon has spilled all
its star dust on the ground.
The left side of the world
says boo hoo too long.
I say to myself whats
the use of bothering.

All trees have become
allergic to their leaves.
The left side of the forest
can’t stop spitting bark.
I say to myself all that
is just a bunch of noise.

The brass band has
broken all of their trumpets.
The left side of the cafe
all punch the air with care.
I say to myself you can’t
sweep up life ain’t fair.

The bombs have all gone to
bed except for one you know.
The left side of the shelter sit
to stomp their feet on the floor.
I say to myself this is where
action is flickering in fiction.

I’m stuck in my far right
corner feeling numb.
It’s not at all my fight
but I am NOT dumb.
A tramp of inflammation
retreats in my lungs.




<a href=””>Tantrum</a&gt;


I didn’t have anything this weekend so I thought I would just add a couple of poems I found with the two word of the day daily post words. Here goes yesterday’s was MALLET:


And here is the today’s word of the day PARTAKE:


<a href=””>Partake</a&gt;



<a href=””>Mallet</a&gt;


I feel DEPLETE of energy, of magic, of the fire, I once held for you.

There are no more words to describe the two of us. There is only pain and suffering.

Your ability to rob me of my happiness, is awe inspiring.

With one quick-witted word, you cut me deep.

I bleed for what once was, for what we are now, and what we might’ve been.

We are nothing more than a modern-day tragic love story.

The SONG in my heart no longer plays the song of love, it now carries the deep baritone song of death.

The death of our love, once strong as oak. Now withers in the winter winds.

It was you and I against the world, now it’s just me standing alone and bitter.

I hope you find what you’ve been searching for since we both know it isn’t me.

As for me, I fear I will remain, nothing more than a DEPLETED LOVE SONG!

<a href=””>Deplete</a&gt;

<a href=””>Song</a&gt;


I have often wondered what the world thought of me.

I wish, to step outside myself and see me the way it does.

To watch the way I walk down the street or run into the arms of my lover. With my stilted gait. Do I really do it all differently, than anyone else does?

I would love to see my hair the curly rats nest that it is, blowing in the breeze on a hot summer day. Would I then see what everyone else sees in its natural cascading waves?

My eyes with their alluring hazel hues. I wonder, do they really sparkle like emeralds at times?

If I saw myself idling in line at the grocery store in my pajama bottoms late at night, Would I cringe at such a sight? Or would I applaud such obvious bravery?

I wish I could watch myself writing. I imagine myself in the midst of a story. I would watch in awe, as my left-hand scrolls across the paper creating something that wasn’t there before. My face lit up with the glow of fantasy. I wonder how beautiful I would seem, following my dreams.

I wonder if I came upon myself crying, shattered and broken. Would I be able to resist running up to wrap my arms around myself to whisper “everything will be okay.”

If I watched myself long enough would I be able to discern the moments the past catches up with me just by looking into my eyes?

Would I be like the rest of the world? Judging a book by its cover. Or would I see the past pains that broke my heart, the past joys I share in my heart? The present and all that I have overcome.

Would I see me as I know me? Or would I succumb to the poisonous way the world views me?

I know this cannot happen. I cannot step outside myself and look at who and what I am from another perspective. I guess I will have to be satisfied in knowing who and what I am deep down inside Instead of the distorted image, they see every time, I look in the mirror.

<a href=””>Wonder</a&gt;


This is a twisted love story. It’s my favorite kind of love story.
The kind of love story that enraptures you body and soul, the kind of love story that ensnares you in its wicked dreams and carries you away on a black cloud of sin and… the forbidden.

This is a twisted love story, the kind of love story that can only break your heart, that ties you up in knots, that shatters you like glass, the kind of love story that will one day break you into a thousand tiny pieces…if you’re lucky.

This is a twisted love story. The kind of love story that my mother warned me about when I fantasized about real love from a romance novel when I was a child. A true love story cannot be written it can only be…felt.

This is a twisted love story. The kind of love story that I keep coming back to over and over at nauseum, and without fail. It seems… I am a masochist.

This is a twisted love story. The kind of love story that promises redemption but gives no succor for your cause. The kind of love story everyone wants but no one gets. The kind of love story that will kill you dead while you sleep…if you let it.

This is a twisted love story, the kind of love story that is always waiting in the wings but never shows itself, a mere ghost of what the future could have held and you are left wondering…what might have been?

This is a twisted love story. The kind of love story that will tear you down, shove you into darkness, the kind of love story that will seep into your bones take root like a tree and berate you for not being…perfect.

This is a twisted love story. The kind of love story that will tear you limb from limb and not be satisfied until you are nothing more than blood and gore. Waiting for the sun to rise again.

This is a twisted love story. The kind of love story that will leave the taste of cotton candied rainbows in your mouth and the taste of passion upon your lips, only to have it yanked away in the last moments of…breath.

This is a twisted love story. A story that will make you quiver with delight, the kind of love story that will take you for granted in all the right ways. The kind of love story that will last an eternity, that will shake you to your core and make you a better person. The kind of love that will bring you to your knees and never lose it’s tentative hold.

This is a twisted love story. The kind of love story that will show you the stars when there are none, bathe you in the moons glow when it isn’t glowing, give you a warm fuzzy feeling even when it’s cold.

This is a twisted love story. The kind of love story that is so enamored with itself, you feel the effects long after the thrill is gone.
How do I know all of this, because this is my twisted love story.!


She was saintly in all that she did.  A wife, a mother, a daughter, a sister. Her roles were etched out for her even before she was born and she played them well.

Always the yes girl, she behaved exactly as she should. Never complaining that her load was too great to bare.

No one ever asking, if she was alright. They just assumed she was, with all her saintly ways.

However, she was full of fire inside. A hunger for a life only she could imagine. A thirst that could never be quenched.

She longed to sink her bare feet into the sand and watch the waves roll upon her. She craved a life she would never have.

She ached to ride wild horses, barebacked and bare-chested. She lusted after the moon and all his beautiful brightness.

She sought a world where she could be free of all her tedious masks. For in her soul she was anything but saintly.


<a href=””>Saintly</a&gt;