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Poems
The following two poems are for David Boreanaz and James Marsters, and the life they breathe into my favorite vampires, Angel and Spike...
Untitled
Your essential self
lies beneath my outspread hands,
bleached as alabster.
At first brush of lips
you are tight, coiled,
at civil war
with your deepest instincts.
As we touch, we ignite,
bonds cinched hard between us.
You tease the breath from my mouth,
electrify my palms to heated skin.
Your whiskeyed voice
rasps out your hunger,
thighs white and taut between us.
You are mead, you are chocolate
melting on my ready tongue.
I harvest your lust like roses.
Lazarus
You wake, blink in sunlight,
pupils narrow.
White skin glows on pale sheets,
suffused with roses.
Your death was greatly exaggerated,
like last night's,
and last night's.
Slaked with blood, you rise,
drenched with sunlight,
hair absorbing sun in stages.
You glow, ripe with promise,
body a tight fit
under rough denim.
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