| More Than As long as I�ve known you We�ve been close friends In tune with each other. Connected, yet apart. Ev�ry moment together Gives me comfort and yet There is tension. The scent of you fills me And heat flushes my skin. I can see in your eyes That you feel it also But the moment�s awkward. Neither of us knows how To reach for the other. We are so much alike. What could have been May never be. Yet we�re not made of stone. You brush the hair from my face. I lay my head in your hand. Suddenly all has changed. What has grown between us Silent and unacknowledged Can no longer be denied. The world spins around us. The taste of your mouth And the sweat on your skin Makes me crave so much more. The long lines of your back Move and flow beneath my hands. I feel the beat of your heart And breathe your quickened breath. Dominique J. LaRue |
| The Touch He watched as she tipped her head back drank deep from the plastic water bottle. He was fascinated by the contrast of what was essentially the same. Condensation pearled and slid to the bottom of the container where it hung suspended... Her sweat beaded exposed flesh trickling along lines of bone and into valleys flushed with heat. One drop trembled at the corner of her jaw... His hand idly stirred the ice melting slowly in the coleman. She drained the last of the water, lowered her head as the drop fell... He rose and walked behind her laying a touch of winter over summer's painful blush. Dominique J. LaRue |
| The Writer Standing in the doorway to avoid the rain, I weighed my craving for a cup of coffee against the driving downpour. The sidewalk cafe across the street was good, packed on sunny days, almost deserted now. One lone figure braved the day. Sprawled carelessly under the table's umbrella, the fierceness of his expession caught my eye and I wondered about him. He sat with one hand clenching a steaming mug while he wrote furiously with the other, one bare foot propped on his chair. Wearing an old tee with a peace sign on it and faded jeans worn thin over the years, paint-spattered hands and mussed hair, he still managed to seem completely at ease among the marble facades and glamour shops of the city's richest street. I decided I wanted that cup of coffee. taking action before I could change my mind I quickly crossed the street while retrieving my card from my portfolio. Taking a deep breath as I passed his table, I laid the card by his hand. Dominique J. LaRue |
| Ring of Lightning
He stood within a ring of lightning That cracked and popped and raged And screamed with unleashed power In that dark and silent hour. Others ran from passion's stage But she thought him inviting. Je t'aime...unpue...beaucoup...passion`ement... Dominique J.LaRue |
| Caught
Restless Trapped by walls No one can see. Duty Affection Responsibility. 2005.06.12 Dominique J. Larue |
| Submissions are welcome. Please! E-mail [email protected] Subject line: Dragon Ink |
| Woander
Some wander without end Yet are never lost. Some wonder eternally And are forever amazed. They live in their daydreams And from them come Our discoveries, Our new frontiers. They are the keepers of Our imagination And the midwives of The future. September 2003 Dominique J. LaRue |
| New Choices He had come to the bookstore seeking to remind himself that he had accomplished something. He needed to see his novel lined up with all of the others; sort of like a protective charm against the feeling of failure he thought he had left behind him. He had just left another one in a long line of bad choices. It sure wasn't the way she looked; Natural beauty machined perfect and packaged for up-scale markets. The perfect girl to party with, she dazzled everyone they met. Yet at the end of the night she was nothing beyond her image. She had left him feeling empty- not who he wanted to be with. As he worked his way through the stacks he noticed a woman reaching for a shelf far above her head. The books she had slipped from her grasp and landed loudly at his feet, his novel face-up among them. He stood mesmerized as she jumped, grabbing the volume at last and tossing him a triumphant grin. He knelt down to retrieve her books and found himself smiling back. It really was the oddest thing. She was definitely not his type. Long hair tied in a ponytail, an old olive drab peasant skirt with a tank top and flannel shirt, work boots, glasses and no make-up, her fingers stained with paint and ink, she smelled faintly of turpentine. So why did he feel like high school had caught up with him once again? Maybe it was because she read the same sort of books that he did before he became successfull and still had the time to indulge. Maybe he was simply lonely and looking for a warm comfort. Whatever the reason was, he felt radiantly happy. As she took her books from his grip, he felt the roughness of her hands; hands that had worked for a living. Suddenly he knew the answer: this woman was real through and through. He asked her if she liked coffee. She smiled and gave him back the books. The empty feeling was gone and there was no plastic anywhere. Dominique J. LaRue |
| MaleStrom
There- In his eyes- A microcosm of wind, And of weather, and of change. And- Like the skies- His soul's an intriguing blend Of conservative strange. Strong- Like the storm- He's the thunder's awesome power And the instant truth of lightning. Then- Weary and worn- Falls the slow, drizzling shower That makes sleep so inviting. Dominique J. LaRue |
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| Poetry |
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| Cocoa and Cream
It's a strange world - Shadows and light. Shades of grey Between wrong and right. It's a cold world - Roads and choices. Only one Among many voices. There's another world Beyond our dreams In the land of Cocoa and cream. It's a cold world - One rules others Against their will. I tell you, brother - There's another world Beyond our dreams In the land of Cocoa and cream. It's a strange world Of dark and light - Blended shades That no longer fight. This is our own world, Built from our own dreams. Cafe au lait, Cocoa and cream Dominique J. LaRue |