Sad Girl on an Uptown Train

Sad Girl on an Uptown Train

It was just

another subway

Monday morning

as the city and I

shook off

the weekend.

The rustle

of newspaper

hide and seek

was muted

by my headphones

and the steady click

of staccato thumbs.

She wedged in

from the 28^th Street

platform, wrapped

in wool and leather,

her hair tousled

by an unfair wind.

The sorrow she wore

did not go well

with her Louis Vuitton

so I painted a smile

on her face with my eyes,

and loved her all the way

to 77^th Street.

SMG

The Long Nights

The Long Nights

The nights I wake up

like a drowning man

the moment he breaks

through the surface finally

able to draw a breath.

The weight of disappointment,

memories of passion traded

for safety, heavy enough

to stop my heart. I lie awake

and try to recall what it felt like

when I was hungry and naked;

living in the wild.

The nights I am alone,

tormented by ghosts in the dark;

by the women that loved me

until I turned and ravaged them

in the glow of full moonlight.

Nights when the whiskey

won’t whitewash my sins

and help me forget their faces.

Like the wail of a distant siren,

their cries echo and taunt me

in the emptiness before dawn.

SMG

Impulse Control

Impulse Control

We met under a neon sign

at the Coyote Moon;

a rundown bar across

the street from the Ramada.

She asked me for a cigarette

and smiled as I fumbled to light it.

She carried her years well

but her eyes looked a little sad

behind the smokey blue glow.

“Are you married” she asked

and I had to think hard about

if it even mattered anymore.

“Some days more than others”

I replied. She nodded and looked away.

Our Camels burned down

and the conversation stalled,

so we moved back inside for a drink.

She drank Smirnoff straight,

and swallowed like it was pride.

I noticed the wetness on her lips

and wondered how it would mix

with my scotch as we walked out
to share my last cigarette.

“I don’t like to sleep alone”

was followed by a well-dressed

exhale of smoke. “Who does?”
I shrugged, then I kissed her

on the cheek before going back

inside to close out my tab.

SMG

One Night in Singapore

One Night in Singapore

The humidity of the summer evening

glazed my face with sweat and it glistened,

with the setting sun. Tears formed on my beer,

they traced tiny lines down the cold bottle

and pooled on the bar. It reminded me

of the night; I spent with her, below

the Tropic of Cancer.

I can still remember the embrace

of the warm night air, the smell

of zhuójǐn wàndàilán orchids

and I can still see the girl, the one

that haunts me on the long nights

of winter. She gave me a look across

the crowded bar, as much a dare

as a come hither stare. Those gilt edged

brown eyes that pierced the room

like needle and silk through wounded flesh.

She was beautiful and kissed me

without saying hello; her lips a sweet

and decadent champagne that I drank

until intoxicated. Her skin was a playground,

fragrant and salty on my tongue. We tussled

in the sand for hours until she pinned me down

with a smile. The night was quiet and still

save for the breeze playing with her hair.

I could feel her flesh part and for the first time

I understood her vulnerability. She was both

courtesan and concubine and she gave herself

completely. I took her by the throat and loved her

until she surrendered with a shutter and a sigh.

SMG

Talk to Me

Talk to Me

In that voice you use after midnight, the one

that sounds like the kiss of brandy glasses

and the pop-sizzle of lit match to cigarette.

Talk to me the way you do on Sunday mornings

in the lingering fog of Saturday night's embrace,

the temptation still a flame in your eyes.

SMG

Simplicity

Simplicity

Sunday morning--
sunlight chases tiny rabbits
across the bedroom floor,
and you are beautiful
in the shadows.

Blankets pulled overhead
keep Saturday night’s toll
at bay for the moment,
and you are enticing
in the goose down.

Newsprint smudged
fingers fetch aspirin
with sparkling water back,
and you are sexy
in the naked daylight.

I fell in love with you
on just such a morning,
3000 miles to the west,
and you were beautiful
in the retreating fog.

SMG

Don't Tell Me Your Name

Don’t tell me your name

Don’t tell me your name;
I won’t remember it anyway
because I killed those brain cells
two or three bottles back.

Just call me Sunday morning regret
and scream whatever you want
in the darkness.

You told me that you left
your vanilla suit at the cleaners
but you won’t need it
on this bad boy escape.

All I want from you
can be had without words
and what you need
requires no long thoughtful gaze.

I want to give you stubble
burns on your thighs,
rolling back spasms
and make you question
everything your mother told you.

In return I’ll take
your nail track brands,
lipstick smudges
and your lingering guilt
home with me in the morning.

You can be a slut for a day
and I will wear my Mickey Rourke mask
until we wash off the night
and go back to our assigned seats.

At Last: Babylon

I told you I would write;
but morning after promises
rarely make it to sunset.

On a night before,
we wrestled in the sands
along the Euphrates
in an awkward exchange
of vodka nicotine kisses;
ebb and flow. You lied
and said I was your first
but Darius and Alexander
had left their marks
long before I tasted
your fetid waters.

Harlot that you were,
I loved you, even
as your gardens withered
and the sands began
to devour your beauty.
When I saw the writing
on your bedroom wall
I ran for the Tigris
afraid of the imminent
devastation of you--
of us.

I made for Lagash
without a backward glance.
With the thunder shake,
and screams in my ear,
I found my way to safety,
and the pure waters of home.

I know my missive is late
but I carried it by hand.
A promise kept,
if only to your memory
and the shifting sand.

SMG

Across the Night

Across the Night

I surrendered to my desires

and fell into a fitful sleep.

Lucid dirty blonde dreams

and tattoo fantasies ensued.

A night of cold sweat lust;

thoughts of the base and dark

spaces between you and I.

Could you feel my tongue

part your thighs as you slept?

Did my desire penetrate the night,

find you longing on the other side

and hold you on the brink

of torture, need and ecstasy?

I thought I heard you sigh

as I devoured the skin of your neck

and took you from behind

those hungry tanned eyes,

and handfuls of flaxen hair.

As the morning sun invaded

did you wake with a start;

spent, chest still heaving,

the chill of the dawn air

dancing on your skin

as wanton hands had done

in the unrepentant night?

SMG

Late Fees

Late Fees

I know you watch me,
over spectacle rims
near the bridge's end.

You shush me
over index cards
and collected late fees.

I want to tie you up
or hold you down
and scribble poems
on your breasts
in red fountain pen
and let your screams
echo through
the Dewey stacks.

We both know
pain and love
are partners
over time, overdue.

SMG

Beneath the Rose

Beneath the Rose

Meet me

under cover(s)

in clandestine

destinations,

trust betrayal,

lust and fate

to Harpocrates

discretion. 

Beneath

crimson petals,

we can sate

carnal appetites,

well beyond

prying eyes,

our secrets safe

beneath the rose.

Meet me

in our holy place

and confess

your dark wishes.

Let us do

the unspeakable

shielded by

the gift of Eros.

I will hold you

and whisper

“Sub rosa,

my secret love”.

For we are gods

and our deeds,

cannot be judged

by mortals.

SMG

Listen to @m_blanc_ read "Beneath the Veil" (the poem posted in the comment below)

Tryst

Tryst

"I was hoping I would see you again…"
the words danced on my ear,
her breath and breasts warm against me,
"so I didn't wear panties".

Outwardly unaffected,
I leaned in to catch the fragrance
of her hair as it floated past my nose.
My lips pressed against her ear,
I made it known, I was pleased as well.

Her hand fell to my knee

and slid deliberately north.
“So it would seem”, she said
with a firm and knowing grasp.

The bar was crowded when I entered,

but as she slid her lithe frame
between the bar and my stool,
everything peripheral faded from focus.

“You ran away last time before I finished with you”

My explanations quickly rebuffed, she kissed me.
and my Bond like countenance began to crack.
“Now that wasn’t so hard was it?”
she giggled,  and came back for seconds.
She pulled me closer
positioning my hands on her waist.

I know there was loud music playing

but all I could hear was the sound of her voice as she said
“do you know how wet you’re making me?”
With a deft fluid motion, she slid my hand down
and back up under the hem of her skirt,
removing any thought
that she was prone to exaggeration.

I caught my breath, regained my composure,

looked past her coolly, and made it known
I was ready to close out my tab.

SMG

Picture Prompt Challenge (featuring Jacob Lucas)



No Curtain Call

Sometimes

when the curtain falls

it never rises again.

No phoenix up
from the ashes
of failure

or Jesus
resurrected

on the third day.

Sometimes

the lights

go out forever

and the stage

is never set again.

The final act

of you and me

was some time ago

and there is no encore

in the works.

The theater of us

has become

an abandoned stage

and the audience

has long since

left, in search
of a new tragedy.

SMG

This was written in a fog of 12 year old scotch and the loneliness of another hotel room. In  response to the One Shoot Sunday Picture Prompt Challenge



SWF Seeks...

She wants
to be hung
half naked
by her wrists
while he
gracefully
etches her
with his blade.
She longs
for beaded blood
and tiny streams,
to roll down
her body;
stain her skirt.

She's never
been loved
that way.
No one
has ever tried
to please her
with such artistic
understanding.
There is no he
Who would
indulge
such a need,
no one who
would let her
truly surrender


KGB/SMG


Re-posted from Sleep Snort Fuck

Skiathos

Skiathos

On pure white sands
we tested our endurance;
speaking in tongues
and dead languages.
Eros, diligo, blysia, expeto;
lost words moaned
between half gasps
and screams in the dark.

We measured time
in moon shadows,
broken promises
and scars from lovers
long gone. In the glow
of muted embers
waves crashed
against the past;
a persistent hope
in the darkness.

SMG

Prom Night

Prom Night

Fireflies flash
in the faded autumn light
and burst in auroras
on fogged car windows.

The desire within
is oblivious to the show,
mindful only
of the steering wheel
and the finish line.

The darkness waits,
patiently, until
the lovers are sated.
Soon enough
it will invade,
like the doubt
that comes with sunrise.

SMG