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her touch

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Tonight has started off
extremely well.
She slipped
into my arms
with a look
that couldn’t be
mistaken. At times
like this
it’s a toss-up
as to who’s
and who’s receiving.
All I know is
that the longer
we’re together
the more
she turns me on.


“Bones Will Not Suffice”

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Here is the title poem from my first collection published in 1997 by Black Lion Press.


A backdoor beggar,
the brindled bitch
is more than another stray mongrel
scavenging breakfast
at the butcher shop
door. Bones
will not suffice
to fill her hollow hurt.
She is not the first knocked-up love
to be knocked about,
kicked out and left to fend for herself.
Her whines are not self pity,
just a plea for touch.
Ask her.
Nights bring their own hunger
when you’re on your own.

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