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

Sunday Picture Challenge

Tired of the Road

I rode the American experience
from sunset to sunrise
across the Lincoln Highway.
Spent forty six years
in the footsteps of Coronado,
Lewis, Caulfield and Moriarty;
chasing ghosts both real
and imagined. I’ve been
down in Denver, slept under
mountain stars with only
my doubts as company
and loved many a girl
long before I learned
to love myself.

I watched the naked cowboy
playing the guitar in Times Square
and it may as well have
been Darth Vader fiddling
while Alderon burned.
His neon tan blazed against
a backdrop of taxi cabs,
broken hearts, barkers
and the scream of 10 million souls
on the verge of falling silent forever.

As I stand now in the night air
of the city and watch my life go by
on the ticker at one Times Square,
I long for the simplicity of home
and hope that I can find my way.

SMG

Night Rise

Night Rise

The night rises
to the sound of a baby crying
alone in a garbage can.
The air,
thick with the noise
of cars and gunfire,
smells of rot and Burger King.
The city streets whisper
words of seduction
to lonely old men
seeking companionship
at a price.
The sign on a bar
preaches a neon gospel;
OPEN 'TIL 4AM
OPEN 'TIL 4AM
to those
in need of escape.
In the heart
a church,
doors locked, windows barred,
stands separate
from the pain.
With the dawn
comes sleep for the darkness,
until the world
turns its face away again.

SMG

I really don't even like this poem anymore but it was the first thing that I ever got published. I won the free verse award for the annual writing contest at my college with this piece. As I read it now it seems like silly pretentious crap but I guess we all need to start somewhere.