Tag Archives: Sex


Only through our vulnerabilities  

Can we speak of ourselves

Where no genders build language

Where no categories structure

Your reaction to my voice…..

My reaction to your voice.

Either of us can be the words

Slicing into the coolness

Of our combined angers…..

Of our singular gentleness


That’s Not The Intent

Photo by Elan Mudrow
Photo by Elan Mudrow

We walked the old trail

Full of abandoned orchards

Until we reached the dock.

Smooth and new, sticking out

Into the river

Under an unfriendly sun.

Others, on the dock …fishing with

Umbrellas blocking the seeping heat,

Their poles lying at their feet.

Nothing is caught

That’s not the intent.


I, who have never fished…..are

Frightened by the sound

Of soft-skinned fruit….

Overripe, hitting the ground…..

Hard…..From sundried branches….

As if they are wild…creatures hiding

Among the blackberry thorns.

You, having fished, used to

Drag carp and mudsuckers

Home, abandoning them

With line and hook

Still lodged in their gaping mouth


We kiss together

Under a tree that sheds leaves

Before it should.

You think of autumn….and

When will the fall swoop in

And chill the ground?

I think of the red aphids

Crawling among the dried leaves

Scared one will get caught

Upon the blanket

I’ve brought for us to lay upon


You dip a chip in hummus

And sip the golden wine

Noticing a small dry spot

On the knuckle of your thumb.

I am worried about

The naturalness of my body

Bumps and lumps.

I pick up some the fruit,

That frightened me,

And take it home

You dab your tongue upon your dry skin

In a soothing gesture

Perspiring Happens!


Funny, how many armpits there are

Floating around.

Most stay in their place.

Every now and then

One intrudes upon your space

Making it difficult to concentrate

Giving you the feeling that you need to escape

Running to where the air is fresher…..


Free from your boss, Old Spice.

Away from that gossipy wench Dove

Avoiding the smut talk of Gillette

Who is just interested in his Speed Stick

While his fat buddy Mitchum chuckles

At every cute deodorant that walks by.

You want to tell Glide

That her body wash isn’t working!

That’s for Sure.

Brut grunts at you for no reason

Must be football season.

Then there’s Ralph Lauren

Who thinks he knows the goddess Hygiene personally

You want to tell him Hygiene doesn’t exist

Just take a look around the office for proof!

Perspiring is not a Secret!

It happens!



But, armpits aren’t always bad

Sometimes during a warm Irish Spring

When people get a little extra sweaty

You find just the Right Guard

And are more than willing to bury

Your nose into your lover’s armpit

And make that Gold Bond

Faded Blouse


Photo by Abbie Pegler
Photo by Abbie Pegler

We take the blouse

(Forbidden by mothers

Unknown by fathers)

From out our school backpacks


Tucking our slimness,

Or the semblance of slimness

Into the new shell

Over naïve shoulders

Behind the large shade

of the neglected tree

In case someone’s looking

Knowing that everyone’s looking

Hoping for someone to notice

Which is different than looking.

This hunger evolves into

The secret tattoo,


Off-center, upon the upper arm

Back shoulder, above the ankle

Only to find out after

We have been well-fed

There still resides the wish

For the blouse to remain forbidden,

And the secret tattoo

Kept from fading