…of wisteria and the scent of honeysuckle

Her  death leaves
us with

hidden memories

of captured fireflies,

of wisteria and

the scent of

honeysuckle,

of taffy pulls
and
pink flamingos,

of Christmas and

the Wizard of Oz,

of swallowed

shame

and conflicting

secrets.

Image and text Rob Goldstein (c) 2017

A Mustard Seed

This me, not

me, this

spooky

action

from a

distance:

the games
begin

in
Eden,

where

particles

glittered

until

dim-bulb

fantasies

snuffed

them out.

These

undulating

hips and ribs;

those hot

hands on

our

dead flesh:

we are

ignorance

and bliss.

Words and image (c) Rob Goldstein 2017 All Rights Reserved

hungry beast

she does
not see

but feels

its orgasm

ritual

of elbows

and knees.

 

hungry beast

hair

thick as rope

 

beautiful
sharp

teeth

she cradles
him only

when she
needs

something

to feed on.

Image and text (C) Rob Goldstein -1985-2016 all rights reserved