Irma winks with hurricane eyes,

breathing fury crashing on sands.

Savagery of waves pounding,

nature destroying nature,

tangling Florida without reason -

a monster betraying our trust

tattooing tattered shores.

Unstable eyes of angry tempests

bleeding tears upon our beaches,

lightning punching in fury,

wavering sky threatening to swallow -

all in death refrain of a hangman,

forcing residents to forsake homes,

trembling limbs beset by carnage.

Gusts tossing screaming palms,

onyx gales strangling souls.

Life as we know it cast aside

as birds fly lifeless in raging sky,

trust betrayed by exploding thunder

leaving stairs leading nowhere.

Treacherous cobalt sky vents anger -

bloody aftermath of crimson rain.

Ambushed light laments and moans

as white witch leaves calling card

of tumbled loss and heartache.

Please stretch out your arms

to welcome me home

to my sacred place, unscathed

when storm’s wrath

and destruction is expended.

I beg to return once more

to my cherished cottage

by unspoiled seaside sand.

Thursday Morning

Her phone was going off since she put up that new picture.  She was having her pick of the guys but there was one in particular she wanted to succeed.  She scrolled through her phone for all of the messages from the website and she replied to his message.

She set a date for that night, and who knows maybe she'd get lucky.  Maybe she would find a connection.  But three months after she signed her divorce papers, she was just really looking for someone to spend the night.

Her office phone rang and brought her out of her thoughts and her personal phone.

She answered and went about her day.

Thursday Evening

She was showered, hair done, make up on and was finished getting dressed and was buckling her high heals when she got the text.  Her date for the night just canceled.

"What the fuck!"  She looked at herself in the mirror, "You hot sexy bitch!"  She was not going to let this go to waste.  At 42 she was put together very well and had the firgure she fought to keep from her early 20's.   She sat on the couch in the living room of her two bedroom house she was renting and she began scrolling through her Tinder list. Swipe, swipe swipe, swipe, swipe... She swiped right so much she boosted her self.

She ended up going to a bar and there she found a young man she could lure into her Venus flytrap.  She took him home and proceeded to dominate him as she lured him into the bedroom.  She pushed him onto his back and he fell onto the bed.  She unzipped his pants and in one deft motion, the jeans and underwear came off.  

She was not disappointed.  She bent down and he said, "Wait!  Take your top off, I want to see your tits"  

"You wanna see them?"  She teased as she squeezed them together in her vest and halter top.  She had a rack and she knew how to use it.  Even if her husband didn't appreciate her, he loved her tits.  

"Beg to see them!" She demanded.  She teased the young man by bringing her halter down to just her areola and said again, 

"Beg to see them or you get none...not even the blow job I was just going to give you! So do it!"  He flinched at this as she said it in a stern voice.  

And he said, "Please, please let me see your tits"

"See, that's all a good little boy needs to say to momma..."  She looked at his cock and she noticed he got harder as she said 'momma'

She unhooked her bra and swing her halter and vest off.  She grabbed a pillow, tossed it on the ground and knelt before the younger man.  She slid his cock between her tits as she knelt down and engulfed his cock head in her mouth as she began to bob up and down.

As she was blowing him, she took her well manicured hands and stroked his thighs and moved another to his ball sack, using her finger nails to run along back of his sack from the top to the bottom.

She dropped his cock and said, "Do you like this?  Do you like the way I'm sucking on you?"

"Yes, I'm gonna cum soon"  When she heard that she flicked a finger on his cock, "well then, let me get some desert"  And she ran her tongue up his ball sack to his cock and started swirling her tongue up and down with the motion of her head.  She didn't have to wait long for his cum to shoot into her mouth, and she swallowed and sucked as hard as she could.

She continued sucking on him to get him hard again, and then when he was sufficient, she unhooked her skirt, and let it fall.  She stripped off her panties and then pushed the young man back down as he tried getting up.

"No, momma is gonna ride you, baby, you aren't going nowhere!"  

The young man just smiled and stayed on his back.  Cock hard, he felt the warmth and wetness of her pussy as she slid onto him.  

"Oh yes, momma is going to enjoy riding you"

And she back thrusting onto him, giving him the ride of his life.  She bent over and brought her left tit to his mouth, and then his hand to her other nipple and he instinctively knew what to do.

She grabbed his hands and brought them to her ass, she looked down at him and said, "squeeze, baby!" and she did.  

"If you're a good little boy, momma will let you cum in her ass"  And with that, the young man never had a woman talk to him like that and he started cumming in her.

"Hold on, boy, momma's not ready yet" and she began riding down hard on him and five minutes later, she had hers.

She rolled off of him, and she cuddled up next to him as they both laid there, sweaty,  half dressed and almost satisfied.

"That was great!" he said through breaths of air.  He started to get up and she put pressure on your chest, 

"Where you going?" She asked.

"I'm not sleeping her, hey I'll be more that ready to come over to fuck you but I'm not sleeping here"

"Noooooo" she whined, "Can't you just stay the night?  Just this once?"  

"Take it or leave it"

"Fine, what's your phone number?"

He gave her the phone number and then got dressed and left.  She laid back on the bed and said out loud, "How come they never want to stay?"

She got up and went to the bathroom, showered and put her sweats and t-shirt on and climbed into bed.  She rolled over, turned the lamp off and she let the tears start, hating to sleep alone.

Imagine a balloon, he said.

Picture all your grief,

The guilt, the sorrow.

Inside you, sitting in a 

     Bucket.

Pen twirling in his hand

Eyes careful and calculating,

He told me to fill up my balloon.

Transfer all those emotions-

The guilt. The grief. The sorrow-

Into the balloon, that's floating next to 

     You.

Watch them flow-

The guilt. The grief. The sorrow-

From being trapped inside you,

Into this balloon, and let it

Simply float 

     Away.

The worst therapist ever

sitting in front of me.

His hair stringy and greasy

Wire glasses hiding his dollar sign stare.

This couch reeks of sweat and regret

Why am I here, I don't deserve to be here

It should've been

     Me.

A cough. A sniff. 

He clears his throat and attempts to

Stare into my soul but

There's nothing there.

Nothing left anymore. 

It jumped out of me when you 

     Jumped.

I always said one day we'd fly away together...

Not like this. Not like that.

You spread your wings

Only they didn't catch the wind and you

     Fell.

A downward spiral

Accelerating faster faster

Until suddenly

     Still.

He told me to fill a bucket with

My guilt. My grief. My sorrow.

That I could put it all inside this fictitious balloon

And watch it dissipate into thin air.

I look up. I stare. I blink. I finally 

     Speak.

I am the bucket,

Red and shiny and capable of

Handling anything coming my way but

I am not filled with these emotions,

I have been 

     Consumed.

It's not that I am bogged down by

This muddy sorrow, guilt and grief.

It's that this overflowing pain has turned me,

Shiny and red and capable, into something

Faded black and grey and

     Tainted.

It's not that I'm too full to do anything.

It's that I'm too empty to feel

     Anything.

Roses are red,

Blood oozes from under the bed.

Violets are blue,

and this is my hate of you.

I step down from the sheets

And in slips under my feet.

Roses are red,

They decorate the dead.

Violets are blue,

They speak of things people never knew.

And the memories and houses of both

Haunt faces never born and places that never existed.

Roses are red,

I love you he said.

Violets are blue,

Say something to me too.

I never presumed this emotion,

These waves of the ocean.

I could not predict the tides of the moon.

There's no space for your fingertips

so let them run and rule

a cold and faithless tool

to the leader and his loyal fool

There's no space for your feet to walk

so let them graze the sun 

or crush down everyone 

for the battle's never, ever won

There's no space for your eyes to see

so let them turn to rust

the essence falls to dust

for a gale or breeze or startling gust

There's no space for your heart to give

so let it fade away

the exterior decays

so the inside lives another day

Numerous words must have clung to your feet,

when you burnt the last letter of mine..

when you removed flowers from books,

you must have remembered the one who gave, too..

It was necessary for

the river of your eyes to come down..

The love was necessary,

and the separation was necessary too.

It was necessary that we both

had lots of wishes..

but then the falling off of the wishes

was necessary too..

It was necessary for

the river of your eyes to come down..

Tell me do you remember

when you stole my heart..

And you made the stolen thing

the house of God..

When you used to say that

you say my name while praying

and are afraid of ___

the prayers of love..

Those talks were just talks,

and somewhere, it was necessary

to drift away from those talks..

We have the same faces,

it's the same me and the same you.

But I am lost,

and you're lost somewhere too.

I had ditched in love,

so I was unbeliever, and so I still am.

I have found my destinations,

and still I am a traveller as I was.

Removed from your heart,

where I wandered and where I reached, (I don't know)

But when I wandered, I realized,

that it was necessary to wander too.

I've always loved the epistollary genre,

letters fitted with words we might never utter

(for utterance infuses them with nervous life, through breath,

makes real reflections inextricable from the tongue, the lips).

With words I can coyly curl around you

copper kitten-like with holographic eyes,

weave worlds for "us", discursively,

full of languid summer-light day, humming humid night,

fire-flies and murky pond water

aged in the exquisite casks of these two

bodies, graceless and unapologetic

like children.

But speaking this world makes it true-

Makes us kiss in that Sunday rain,

that Sunday movie, that Sunday inclination,

Your imagination rubs against mine

rendering it almost-pregnant with images

of what-was-not-but-might-have-been-or-be,

pale shapes with color-soaked edges, vivid, laden.

These written words

possess a different power from those spoken-

chest rising, falling, lips fellating the enunciation

expelling/coupling words with breath, the thing without which

I am not. These words cannot be divorced

from breath, from body, cannot be made

any less real than me-

So I do not speak.

These words, formed by precise jitters of my left hand,

jiggles, giggles of my wrist across blue lines

begin a dangerous lovely triangle of you, me

and words, those dazzling darlings

I've held so close and for so long,

chicken-scratch signifiers in still-fresh ink.

Words speak volumes, you know,

colors, layers of scent, texture, memory,

snippets of imagination, more vulnerable, revealing

than my naked body in wind or bad lighting.

Dare you meet me on these terms?

You shan't escape unscathed

("shan't," you see? This is not reality...)

My passion, my livelihood, these words

rapier-like at times, dagger-like at times-

and often gentle as peach-fuzzed nose breath

whispered with fairy-like precision

into that crescent crevice behind the ear-

might bind you, slowly, to me, 

without them ever being spoken.

If I say what I mean, and mean

what I say, take care not to fall

for an amorous alphabet of unspoken words.

You see, I only occasionally have the balls

to live them.

And I haven't said a word.