Does the wood pigeon know?

when he calls his coo into the night

the cats who stalk will slink toward

the smell of blood and feathers

as I have gathered myself into quills

and spices sealed in alabaster jar

the sum of me is traveled

through moon and sun

like a cut orange leaves her

stain on wood, sticky and bitter

as your imprint has become

my mandala and the furtherance of us

defies life and death

shaking itself off like a dog released from bath

will hurtle, maddened, toward nearest escape

I grew my vines in your wood

my embers are your fire

this melange of you and I

twined like grapes gathering sunlight

before first frost

and the women take in the clothes, hanging on frozen line

even as they capture the day’s warmth

you stretch in this paper thin life time

sew the jagged edges of my need

with your ivory needle

as if we were part of the same


held up



force of




freja-beha-erichsen-by-moussy-spring-2011-campaignAmber used to be a color

something from frankincense bible

a captured piece of the past

coated in sticky prison

wait for me to catch you

maybe we are caught in time

like sticky insects rubbing legs

I’m chasing your long legs into sounding shadows

amber was not the smell

of you opening yourself

to my low entreaty

leave me to run myself wild over

your freckled skin and tanned cheeks

It doesn’t matter how far

wait for me to catch you

my hands and your long hair loose

amber was not the liquid

honey mounting your urge

in my mouth

making ourselves sore on rhythm

we are jarring our cries for jam

wait for me to catch you

unbuttoned in savage grace

amber was not a gentle

rain of longing spilling

over my lips

clasping your laughter to my own

skipping in each thin wish bone

wait for me to catch you

surfaces falling away to expose

amber was a faraway thing

before you became the echoing girl

with honey colored hair

chasing my blushes with your narrow hips

between your thighs releasing

the past and future of all

rebuking color

changing behind movement

like a slow melting

amber sun rise