poem

Whisper In My Ear [with audio]

*spoken word*

Your words whisper in my ear.
Your voice does things to me
That haven’t been felt in years.

My heart races
My insides quicken
I want to hear more

I listen when I’m alone
To be safe from disturbance.
I listen while at work
In hopes that no one notices
The reaction your whisper creates.
I listen before I sleep at night;
You’re the last thing I want to hear.

Blow by blow, your words hit deep.
The aching and longing are no strangers to me
But nothing else does it justice,
Not like they deserve.
Nothing can explain
Or perfectly portray
These feelings the same way.


Listen to my poems on SoundCloud
This poem, along with others, can be found in my book:
Coffee Shop Sessions II: Moving Mountains One by One

poem

Weekly Sessions [with audio]

Slowly she enters the room
and approaches the bed.
She’s not feeling too keen on much else
than having poetry read.

She opens the book,
scans the room,
and gives you the look
to proceed.

Your breathless monologues
are what she needs.
She’s not looking for more,
only for your words.

Your voice begins to trigger sensations down below
as she closes her eyes,
breathes deep,
and sighs.

Your words soothe the tension
as each word is given careful attention,
knowing how each one caresses her mind,
seizing on the opportunity
to the revealing of her true beauty;
this is your one chance for unity.

She is captured by your guise.
You firmly believe the efforts are worthwhile.
The feeling is mutual
and catching you both by surprise.

You rise,
she’s reached her peak.
There are no more words left to speak.
The mind is tired and the body is weak.
You lean in and say, ‘I guess I’ll be seeing you next week.’


Listen to my poems on SoundCloud
This poem, along with others, can be found in my book Coffee Shop Sessions II: Moving Mountains One by One

poem

Thank You For This Gift

I used to dream of the sea,
of lonely nights,
the ones of you and me
staying up late
through all hours of the night
planning what we’d do
if we were in the same room

I don’t dream of that anymore
for when I’m in need
I turn you on
and there you are
reckoning every nerve
in this delicate body

I recall your words whispering in my ear
for hours on end
turning pages deep within my soul
breaking down walls
that were trying to stay strong

A constant surprise
how you’ve done this to me
a consuming yet calming
settled in deep
by words spun on repeat

Mesmerized, I’ve memorized line by line
destroying me with perfect intonation
and yet, I wouldn’t have it any other way
this gift you’ve given me

Happy birthday dear friend

Photo by Katerina Holmes on Pexels.com
poem

Train Ride Home

inspired by The Last Night of Your Trip

on the train ride home
your smile flashed between buildings,
lights flickered and i couldn’t tell
if it was the spark in your eye
or the streetlights beaming
onto the dark streets.

i saw your smile and your hand
reaching for mine,
those bedroom eyes
that whispered “bring me
to your hotel.”

we weren’t made for cheap
sex, we were poets
who felt everything down
to our souls.
it wasn’t just one night with another,
it was our lives coming together.

your smile chased me
between the streets.
your breath next to mine
will always be the one thing
that sends me off
to the sweetest dreams.

poem

The Secret Garden

bore from the most arduous labor,
its intoxicating fruit,
its sweet blossoming fragrance,
pulls in the strongest of hearts.
as a vine
snakes its way through the depths
of a luscious secret garden,
distinct impressions
produce
the richest aromas.
even to an untrained eye,
the sweetest honey couldn’t go unnoticed.

Photo by Magda Ehlers on Pexels.com

the sweetest honey couldn’t go unnoticed;
even to an untrained eye,
the richest aromas
produce
distinct impressions.
a luscious secret garden
snakes its way through the depths
as a vine
pulls in the strongest of hearts.
its sweet blossoming fragrance,
its intoxicating fruit
bore from the most arduous labor.

poem

The Gift and the Curse

what i thought i had lost,

a love that would never return,

now fulfills distant dreams-

an unanticipated ecstasy.

but while caught in the midst of it,

how is it that i still think of you?

the one who got so close but still so far away,

the one who buried me deep,

with a voice kept on repeat,

i can’t seem to make that voice,

or those words, go away.

how is it that ‘i keep coming back

to your shores’?

how is it that i keep hoping for more

when i know nothing

will ever come of this?

does the music ever provide the answers

or does it only tell us what we wish to hear?

poem

Getting to Know You

Getting lost in the deep blue
we simply forget everything else
this is our fantasy, our escape
but there is life outside these four walls

Our wants extend us to stay a little longer
we’ve been waiting for this day 
it’s too soon to walk away

I’d rather have my time 
with your body next to mine
I’d rather have my time 
getting to know each piece of you,
my partner in crime


This poem, along with others, can be found in my book Coffee Shop Sessions II: Moving Mountains One by One

poem

In a Sea of Lonely Nights

A lonely boy in a sea of lonely nights
in that last hour of the day
capturing words he wishes he had said
writing them down
so they’re out of his head

Music fills the air
soothing the tension
lessening the cares

Take a trip to the other side:
what makes the other person tick,
what makes them come alive,
what’s in their head they’re trying to hide

While reaching out for a connection
lost and longing for attention
it’s someone in his bed
that doesn’t know the depths
of the tears he’s shed

But it’s still a mystery;
where did it all go wrong
was it this way all along

Thousands of poems captured on those lonely nights
but not a one could do
when it’s just not you


Listen to more of my poems on SoundCloud
This poem, along with others, can be found in my book Coffee Shop Sessions II: Moving Mountains One by One

poem

Our Song

Image credit: Max Dupain

Spinning the same song
that connected us
gets harder to hear.

Each verse cuts deeper
into what never was,
what could have been;
the longing to be near.

With my fingertips crossing your beard,
your fingers grazing my thighs,
those longing sleepless nights
I’ve waited to be alongside
the one that knew the depth
of my emotions,
facing eye to eye.

Sometimes it’s a choice song
so I don’t forget the closeness
of someone far away.

Sometimes it’s a random appearance,
stops me in my tracks;
nothing else
could stand in its way.

poem

Nightly Routine

Late at night
Lying in bed
Headphones on
Listening to music
Or a few recorded poems
Reading the latest
I attempt to craft a new one
Or brush up a draft not quite finished

It’s becoming routine
I’ve always been
An undercover poet
Now I’m sharing my words
With my family’s support as an added bonus

Shared are the happenings,
The disappointments,
The contests never won,
Submissions rejected
And poetry readings I’ve done
But only a select few are read
Only those that are safe
Too many things need to be left unsaid

Safe are the clouds
Blowing with the whispering wind
Safe are the waves
Leaping over me as I rescind
All my powers to Mother Nature
She’s the one we must bow to
Who we give our ultimate thanks to

Those poems of desire and longing
Full of sorrow
Never to be filled
By our wants in all of our tomorrows
No, those things aren’t safe
There’s too many things that need to be left unsaid