“we time travel…”


we time travel,
you and I,
never touching
but for palms,
in passing,
a brushing of a chance
to grasp
and just as suddenly,
I’ve seen your footprints
on my riverbank
the scraps of paper
into the bark of trees,
cyclical epistles
left behind
to document
your seasonal departures
the mouths of these rivers
know the redolence of you
the way the one
between my thighs
knows the ache
we time travel
and for now,
it is enough

“The Sweet Spot…”

1you know the place
the furrow in your bed
where your body fits
just so
the way hips spoon
into hips and breathing
is a neck baring pleasure
I tell him often
“I’m going there”, hoping
he’ll join me
sometimes he does
more often, not
but when he’s there,
that spot
so bitterly sweet
is where I dissolve
into the dust
of his fingers
into the bokeh
of his eyes

” Oh Icarus, What Have You Done? “


Up here, hollering winds unsettle dust
softening on Empyrean
rising thermals graze cloud meadows
Up here, those who dress in shadows
dare not enter dreams of men.

Upon this brow my nimbus glows
Bestowed on my ascent
I bow in flight, on wings wraithlike
eschew the day to chase the night,
in bolts across the firmament.

Surrender brings lightness to a leaf
Behold my feather, the freer’s blade
Time is but it’s morrows thief,
A bounty box of verdant leaves
Released before the ransom’s paid.

Oh Icarus, what have you done?
Our escape was not your calling
Through life we sleep and death we rise
Yet vanity undreamt your vaster skies
Into an ocean, woken, falling.

©2014 Skip Maselli


This is my first collaboration with Skip Maselli.  We connected through our About.me pages. The first thing I did, was to check out his writing. One read, and I was hooked.  My current favorite piece there is Love Ballad of My Generation.  Please take a moment to visit his links listed below. Read him. You will not be disappointed.

Facebook Link
Twitter Link / @Proseplay
About.me / Skip Maselli

Collaboration #4 / 2014



We float, effortlessly melding
along blanched parchment
congregating in a mass
of synapses
searching for an outpost.

We reach, over stretched
Querying philosophies
emulsifying in a search for truth,
Not our honesty.

That lies in sensitivity,
where our colours run
ruin, embracing

Enhancing what we once were.

©2014 Shân Ellis

Musings and Smatterings
Facebook Link
Twitter Link / @Awdures


The carefree child
Whiles away the day
Watching the grasses and
Waterwitch bugs
Dancing across the swamp

©2014 Archaeomyste

Panoply of Life
Twitter Link / @Archaeomyste


changing seasons
the space between
our heartbeats

©2014 Sandi Pray

Facebook Link
Twitter Link / @bigmax722


stump of my
p . u . l . s . e
int the ab
the kind I want to-fuck
to-feel as-real  a s  this

©2014 Cat Cray

Twitter Link / @cat_cat_


the colours of life
swirling by
lifts me up
and catches
my eye

©2014 June O’Reilly

Facebook Link
Twitter Link / @LunaJune


over the surface of the pond
a midnight blue sheen
the pond empty of life except
ghost pale weeds
and blood red brush

we stand on the shore and ignore
we can no longer breathe
drink the water
talk to the frogs

©2014 Gary Blankenship

Facebook Link
Twitter Link / @garydawg


The one I’ve never met

Above the dark side of my world

The one the pond in the park
Still waiting for

Fishes and lotus flowers
Yet skate the world

©2014 Victor Alberto Bueno Marichal

Victor Bueno Blogspot
Facebook Link
Twitter Link / @victor_bueno

“he says, you’re beautiful…”

he says

he says,
“you’re beautiful”
I smile, letting it reach my eyes
but I don’t believe him
not for a minute
I think, his eyes are blind
from lust
from a euphoric fog
of satiety
from anything that prevents
him seeing what my eyes do…
no svelte lines here,
no smooth and unmarred visage
only renaissance flesh
and a face with lines
where laughter lives
he can’t be right
he’s high
or the wine
has clouded his judgement
he repeats, “you’re beautiful”
and I wonder if my mirror, mirror
on the wall
has been lying to me
all along

“tonight I will convene…”

I will convene
with departing passerines
I will tuck in between
blackened silk remiges,
every time I’ve called your name
every thrust of vowels
against my hungry tongue
every wanton sigh
their own siren, is the south
but for me, they’ll chart
an easterly
and later, when you are quiet
and replete,
the air will writhe
with something unexplained
your face will lift
your eyes turn west
turn west
to me, and the departing

“I’m on the road…”

i'm on the roadI’m on the road
to somewhere
stumbling along
in the wrong
pair of shoes
shoes, I’ve yet
to fill
I can barely see
where I have been
it’s all a fog
of letting-go
of doves released
of looking in
instead of out
I’m on the road
to somewhere

“I scour your anatomy…”

125I scour your anatomy
for signs of my impact, there
I think I see
the curve of my breast
in the dark combe
of your belly
and is that my cheekbone
wedged between your ribs?
the lines into which my lipstick fades
are a surrealistic abstract across your neck
and the lash that floated free
when you kissed my eyes
has found a home in your collarbone
look, how the whorls of my thighs
finger-paint your hips
I scour your anatomy
with eyes that have never seen
my impact,
on your mind

“blood clots of silence…”


Artwork ©2014 Cat Cray

blood clots of silence
race to the heart of this house
and for a moment,
i hear the sound
of my smile,

To my dear, dear friend @cat_cat_ for coming all the way here to visit me, for bringing joy into my life and for reminding me how rare good friendships are, no matter the distance.

“a novella of sojourns…”

a novella of sojourns

“I’d stretched it all too thinly…”



I’d stretched it all
too thinly,
once again
become a wraith
inside his memory
a writhe
against the hollow
of his cupped tongue
he’d stopped looking for me
I caught him looking through me,
more than once when
I was nothing more than butter, soft
laved across his toast
I’d stretched it all too thinly,
once again
become attenuated fingers
grasping for a heart

“each time I wake…”



each time I wake
I find that I’ve composed my curves
around the rugged landscape
of how I think your body feels
I furrow deep into you
the way hard rain wears rivulets
into mountainsides
and when I finally realize
that your rigor has fled
with the morning light
blinding my eyes,
I get up
and make the bed

“pressed between the silk…”

pressed between the silk

“it is in the pitch-dark hours…”

DSCN0006-001a (1)

it is in the pitch-dark hours
when no one else can see us
that our broken hearts
bleed out
and blossom
in chrysanthemums of ache


(We rarely see a person’s pain behind a smile. And we all carry a memento of it, behind our own.  A friend viewed this earlier and was appalled because she said it looked as if I’d been beaten. That’s my point. But no photographer was harmed, in the shooting of this photograph.)


“once, i leapt…”

once, i leapt

“the day he said…”

the day he said


( For an incredible friend, whose gentle nudges, are making me fly)

“never one for hearts and roses…”


never one
for hearts and roses,
i wait for you
through this long night
bound in garlands
of reddened autumn, nearing,
wood smoke in my hair
skin bared and scented
with the air of a river
in flux,
i wait

“I fall in love, infrequently…”



I fall in love, infrequently
but those few hard
and profound descents
have the cinders buried
beneath the skin of my knees
glaring back at me
each time I slip a foot
into a beautiful shoe
or let a man
slip it off.

But despite the scars
and the damage done
I crave the beautiful
and wretched stumble
that brings me so sweetly
and irrevocably, fallen,
to my knees

“tread lightly, he begged…”

tread lightly, he begged

“tangled up in you…”

tangled up in you1

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