Will you?

Will you let me play with your hair all night?

Will you let me curl my fingers in the loose strands and then pull them free?

Will you shiver?

Will you moan?

Will you ask me to keep going?

Or will you turn to me and kiss my lips and start something completely new?

Will we be able to do this forever?

Each night?

You and I,

with my fingers in your hair.

88 mph

I want you against the wall.

I want you on the bed.

I want you wrapped around me.

I want you pressed tight into me.

I want you when you look at me right before you kiss me.

I want you freshly out of the shower when your hair is still dripping wet.

I want you when you fall asleep in my lap watching movies late on a Saturday night.

I want you to look at me while your dark hair hangs down over half of your face.

I want you when you stare at me when I’ve said something stupid.

I want you when you’re crying because you’re upset.

I want you when you’re crying because you’re happy.

I want you in your shoes.

I want you in your dress.

I want you in your lipstick.

I want you with your rabbit ears and fake eyelashes.

I want you all around everywhere and in between.

I just want you.

The girl with the red hair

I saw her standing there against the back drop of a fistful of trees, but the hard focus of my lens made it appear as if she was in a forest.  She wore long Bohemian clothing that swayed in the slight breeze after it tickled the leaves above her.  I held my camera up and stared for a few moments before dropping my eyes to snap the shot.  There was a waviness to her hair that cascaded down her shoulders.  It was a perfectly aligned mess.

She wasn’t looking at me.  I don’t even know if she saw me, but I couldn’t stop looking at her.

There were freckles peppered across her face, as if she dropped a can of red paint and it splattered back randomly in small droplets.

I took the picture, several actually.  I snapped them as she stood there and looked randomly around as if she were waiting for someone who should have already been there.  It feels so rare to catch these glimpses of beauty unencumbered.  No requirements or obligations, just observation.

She disappeared in a random direction with a random man and I’ll never see her again, but at least I got to see her that once.  I got a picture of beauty and for that I’m thankful.

“Do you want to get some coffee?”

“I’m not really into coffee.”

I know that wasn’t the point of you asking, to go out for coffee, but I always felt the need to say it.  I didn’t like coffee.  It was almost a badge of honor in some cases.  Everyone around me gulping it down like fuel at the gas station.  Sloshing the troughs of cream and milk as stir sticks lay wasted on the counter.  Not me.  I’m good.

I’ve always had a natural state of alertness and didn’t feel the need for a morning pick me up.  Of course it comes and goes, and of course I could probably use some kind of pick me up, but I always felt that if I succumbed to the coffee bean devils then I’d become reliant on them.  I’d be a walking Starbucks zombie.

You were staring at me with a perplexed look on your face.  Shit, I did it again.

“Well I mean, like, I don’t really like coffee, but of course we can do something else.  If you want.  If you want coffee we can go get coffee, or like I don’t know, something.  I mean, I could get something.  I’m sure-, well like they have other stuff.  Did you want coffee?  We can do whatever.  It’s-, I’m-, like whatever you want.”

There, that ought to fix it.  Jesus.

She raised her eyebrow at me and stared for a decade or two.  Her lips were together and still.  She had the biggest, rounded eyes I had ever seen.  I believe people often described them as saucers, big and bright and a perfect circle.  While I’m staring back into her stare all I can think of is the moon and if it had a twin that lived alongside it.  Two giant celestial circles floating in the sky staring at me through a blanket of night black hair.

“You can get whatever you want.  You don’t need to get coffee.  It was just a front to talk.  Geez, calm down,” she hardened her stare enough that it was obviously in jest.

“Calm down?  I’ll definitely pass on the coffee then,” I smiled in response.

“Yeah, because you don’t drink it right?  You’re not really into it.  I heard that somewhere,” she said while turning to walk away.

“I can stand it in the right company.”

I followed the moon for coffee as it faded below the horizon.


A woman’s hair used to be bright.  The colors were vibrant and glistened in the sun.  At certain angles the light would glint off the sheen and shoot a glare across the eyes of those nearby.  Skies were clear and sunshine birthed each strands lightened hue.  Life was full of cheer, skips and smiles.

But there was a girl who did not thrive under the sun as the others did.  The warm rays didn’t spread her smile.  The shining light only slowed her pace.  She wasn’t unhappy but the clear skies did nothing to improve her gaiety.

So she settled in the darkness.

While the others moved themselves to indoor tasks and rest, the un-sunshine girl found comfort in solitude.  The empty streets improved her grace.  The cool evening air roused her jubilation.  In the moonlight she found her smile.

She was drawn towards the sun’s antithesis.  Dark and cold became her comfort.  If the sun was bright she would look for shade.  She would carry an umbrella on her shoulder wherever she went and her eyes would be hidden by sunglasses.

The night held her heart and made her feel love.  With all her time spent in darkness’ arms she began to reflect it’s nature.  Her sun-kissed skin grew pale.  Her eyes lightened in color from brown to green.  Shadows weaved themselves in her hair and became a part of each strand.  No longer was it bright in color, but black as night.

She lived among the fair-headed women and her beauty spread.  The colors painted themselves in other’s manes.  Some were the sun.  Some were the trees.  Some were the flowers.  She was the shadows and she thrived.

I saw your ghost again

I can’t remember what attraction looked like before your eyes.

I’m haunted by you.

Your lips. Your stare. Your everything.

I can only see you. I think this may be how I serve my sentence. In love with someone who is in everyone, but never her.


I only caught you at a glance

while driving to my slow death,

so I tilted my neck

to get as long a view as I could.

You were beautiful and I’ll never see you again.

You had a youthful face and shadowy hair

with a snap of sun on your skin.

Eyelashes, I love a girl with full eyelashes,

I could swing from your eyelashes

down to your pink, ruffled lips.

As we moved in opposite directions

(3 seconds never seemed so short a time as in that moment.)

I groaned at fate and its constant tease

of showing me something beautiful

as she’s on her way to leave.

Can We Just Stay In Bed Today?

It’s Sunday again.  That seems to happen every week.  Funny how that works.

But it is Sunday.  I don’t ever wake up before you.  Not usually anyways.  I even caught the alarm and shut it down before it squawked.  I just want to lay in that hazy, start the week off right feeling under warm sheets and blankets with you.  I hope you won’t mind.

Can we just lay here?  You and I?  I don’t think the world needs us today and even if it does I think it can get along without us.
If you know magic, can you cast a spell?  Some hocus pocus, make us disappear out of focus.  I think we can slip through the cracks of reality and hide out in the in between.

You’re asleep still.  I think I fell asleep before you last night.  You sent me off right.  Now I’m here in the morning waiting for your eyes to open wondering if that smile’s going to flash when you’re finally awoken.
I love those teeth.  When I see them something good is going to happen.  Even if its in the morning, unbrushed and with overnight breath.  I don’t care.  Give me some of that dragon fire down my neck.

You know I can’t resist you.  Sometimes I wish you didn’t.  Maybe you don’t?  If you ever did fully realize you’d know that you can get me to do anything you want.  I’d be your puppet without any power just trying to get that smile to show up again.  Those perfect teeth in that flawless smile.

My fingers never could wait that long.  Soon they’ll be on you.  Starting with a trace along your shoulder.  The exposed skin out from the sheets.  They’ll trickle along their way to your neck and to the other side.  If I’m lucky I’ll get a shiver out of you.  That’s always the goal, to make your body quake uncontrollably and send vibrations down to your toes.
I’m selfish.  I’m only doing it to wake you up.  To cause you to stir and stretch, and when that first long stretch is out of the way I’ll envelope you with my arms and pull your naked skin against mine.  We’ll wrap up like a pretzel and go on with our morning in bed.  Holding out hope that the real world can’t pick locks or see through dimensions.

If only it would last another minute longer.  Every minute in bed with you is like a battery charge.  Every time we wrap up together in limbs and lips I can go on again until the next time.
So throw your leg over my waist.  Rest your head on my shoulder.  Put your hair in my face, while my hands move a bit bolder.  I’m not letting you out of bed so easily this Sunday morning, babe.

Your Hair

It’s a forest overrun with foliage.
A lush jungle of dark strands so thickly come together,
you’d swear it was midnight on the brightest day.

Your hair is my weakness.
So many things about you cause my strength to drain,
but the luscious mane atop your head is as if Delilah stole Samson’s locks and held him hostage at her feet.

Freshly showered and soaking wet,
you could over take kingdoms with merely a stare,
and have offers to drink the droplets that fall from your ends as if it were a potion that grants eternal life.

Waves as deadly as the ocean’s anger,
only more subtle,
but just as easy to get lost in for weeks.

Straightened like the drop of a cliff,
the sudden stop at the bottom
is my heart when she’s gone.

My hands have never felt what home was like
until they were tangled among your tresses.
The idea of pulling them free is preposterous in both ability and desire.

Wild on the moors.
The way you look at me from a distance and how your hair frames your face with its windswept nature,
captivates me every time just as the first.

Simple pleasures are what our lives consist of and make it smile into tomorrow.
Such as the way my fingers clear the brush from your face,
and curl it behind your ears so we may kiss cleanly.

Or to simply kiss through the hanging gossamer
and taste it because,
my need for you rarely knows the patience for a delicate touch.

Lady Godiva, take up your horse,
and ride naked through the streets
with only your hair to keep you modest.

Let me worship you at the end of your length,
and have it caress my face as it does your chest,
and allow my fetish for you to never die.