Today I have a poem up at Dark Winter literary magazine, about grief, nature, and—of course—kinky sex.
Yes, I know what it will do—this berry patch
in the woodlot, belonging to no one, and
the world of which it is the last, Mistress
of everything, or at least of all that remains:
Mommy Dom Nature Herself.
I don’t believe She’s lashing out, though She
has reason to. I know all about cruelty as
an act of love, when pain felt so right
that you’d want to feel nothing else, ever
again—my privilege and my pleasure…
This is the second love/grief/nature poem I’ve published this year, after “February 14, 2021” in LitShark volume 10.
Above snow luxuriant as pillows
or the fluffy blanket I hogged in sleep
and have fantasized against your flesh
Rime on branches like ash
on logs that survive a campfire,
under sun so bright it doesn’t look cold
The full issue is free to read online
The paperback is available on Amazon
