To my playa self

Good night
sweet thing,
another year
always brings:

a light
a song
a dance
a scream–

A giant hug
a warm kiss.

A sweat
a mirror
a fever
of bliss–

A thrust
a shiver
a demand
for promises.

A shaking, a spreading,
an emblem of survival,
a quaking
a scraping
a tremor of denial.

And when you rest,
sweet thing,
when the cape is hung,
the whips are folded,
the dust masks
are debris-free:

dream I’m on fire.

Anthology of Firsts

Star-ridden and worshipped:
you reek of talent
and scalloped grasses,
leaves fresh and waving,
pine needles crisp
and snapped open
to be sucked on.

You ooze of innocuous
cheekbones and jaw
depicted in dreamful
states and fortune-told
spaces gaping with
whiskey and half-smoked

You are the antithesis of
and when I bask
in the lack of what you lack,
I am the wild animal—

swift head shot,
down and trophied,
lying belly up,
roped and yoked
with pleasure.

Just look up, he says,
you’ll eventually see one,
they’re happening all the time.

Mistress Jade I

I packed her haphazardly,
I was rushing as usual.
The riding crop
had a slight bend,
(which made me wince)
slipped between sequins
and gathered in glitter.

The paddle padded
and nestled amongst neon—
alas, no tutu Tuesday
for Mistress Jade…

The walls of my apartment
were trembling,
The carpet wept.
It knew I was leaving,
it knew I wasn’t coming back.
Not like this.
Not like this.

The flogger flipped
and folded
over and wrapped with
my corset strap-on
its black straps
and clasped buckles
like a pile of snakes.

The dildo in the delicate,
silky bag sidled up
next to the vibrating

I shot out the door.

I was happy
I remembered the handcuffs,
unaware I had forgotten
the keys.

(Later on, Mistress Jade
would be very upset with me
over this.)

But her victims’ safe words,
the crowds
that would gather,
answering Mistress Jade
as she cried out, “Is it red enough?!”
The playa sun catching
on the pale and whipped-streaked asses
pointed towards the sky,
shaking thighs and covered eyes.

This was all to come.
This was all to be.