you tremble as if my hand
at its most tender
were a sword pressed against your breast.

and even as I bruise my lips
unholy on an angel,
I still believe there is no god.

we melt passion like chocolate
in our mouths,
and slosh wine with our toast.

blow out the candelabra’s sacred flames,
one by one by one,
as if goodnight could ever end it.

wet wings of the butterfly,
like satin rain-soaked and shrinking,
your lids flutter in a dream of flying

while the ghost that billows summer curtains
floats inside your door jamb,
smiling at you as you sleep.

not every lovely eye has love’s vision.
not every stout heart has meaty chambers.
not every sweet dream has butterfly wings.

————

rhon drinkwater © 2008

The Saga of Swagger | 2 Comments »

I hear the rustle of fallen loves
and remember
the fragrance of your silken blossoms.

Beneath your parched stillness,
roots cleave stubbornly to earth,
resistant to the winds.

But I can hear the great ache
of your branches creaking,
shaken by the loneliness of night.

————

rhon drinkwater © 2008

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for Butch-Femme.com

I had a dream.

I was laying on my back
in a damp ditch outside of the walls of my beloved city,
a place of great feasts
where I once sat at the head of the table.

My terrible longing for home
tethered me to this familiar earth
and I could not stand and walk away.

I shivered in a bloodied torn shirt,
wet with the spit of strangers
and my own tears.

I stared up at the stars,
remembering youthful vision,
a time when this ground was nothing
but a barren field.
But I imagined music
when I looked out across the empty horizon
because I could picture all of you lovers dancing.

There is not one brick I deplore laying,
not one hour of labor I regret.
I forgive your spit and your scorn
and will always remember you dancing.

I am going to begin again,
with love.

—————

rhon drinkwater © 2008

This is about my web site Butch-Femme.com, a community I miss very much. My ex-wife changed all the admin passwords and locked me out when we divorced. She’s never said why she did this. Reposting this July 2008 and its still not resolved.

The Saga of Swagger, Highlights | 2 Comments »

what if when you knelt
& ran your fingers through the water,
you slipped and fell into a furious river?

the source of life shocking warm skin
& seizing a heart
feet rutted in the sucking silt of love
while rage flowed around you

loosened your hold
took you downstream
fists flailing
fumbling
to the calm of your surrender

imagine the quiet after the roar
when you stood on wobbly legs
& realized you were not dead
but drenched
& more alive

————

rhon drinkwater © 2008

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Mountains away lives a poet
who cares whether roses live or die,
who knows fallen petals
are not trash but tears.

She scrubs her heart red and raw
so the scars won’t set.
She swallows the sun for her very own smile
and takes snapshots to prove it.

Glinty little brass key
sweaty from my palm
clicks quietly into her quaint lock,
just as I knew it would.

The ancient door that is her will
moans low as I push myself against it.
Never heard such a sacred sound,
nor been wounded with such longing.

The wind howls so chaotic inside her
feathers are torn from birds,
and the powdery ashes of old hopes
swirl to sting my teary eyes.

Her heart is astonishing radiance.
Need as pure as a pink newborn
crying so fiercely there is no sound
until she gulps that first sting of air.

————

rhon drinkwater © 2008

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everything is turning green
and the blue sky knows all
i am strangling my blooming heart
to quash its tender secrets

you are cocking your head at me
tiny bird
with any sudden movement
you belong to the sky

what visions lay under your eyelids
flying or dying or love
when my hand on your breast
slows your fast beating heart

————

rhon drinkwater © 2008

The Saga of Swagger, Highlights | No Comments »

I had a dream.

I was laying on my back
in a damp ditch outside of the walls of my beloved city,
a place of great feasts
where I once sat at the head of the table.

My terrible longing for home
tethered me to this familiar earth
and I could not stand and walk away.

I shivered in a bloodied torn shirt,
wet with the spit of strangers
and my own tears.

I stared up at the stars,
remembering youthful vision,
a time when this ground was nothing
but a barren field.
But I imagined music
when I looked out across the empty horizon
because I could picture all of you lovers dancing.

There is not one brick I deplore laying,
not one hour of labor I regret.
I forgive your spit and your scorn
and will always remember you dancing.

I am going to begin again,
with love.

———

© rhon drinkwater 2008

The Saga of Swagger, Highlights | 3 Comments »

these hands were not made
to secretly smother such a sweet breath
to choke love until it is grey

hopeful seed never meant to rupture
tiny shoot stretching toward the sun’s glory

such beauty does not even know it is barren

I cannot tend you
even though you are mine

———–

rhon drinkwater © 2008

The Saga of Swagger | 1 Comment »

voyage unleashed & sails flapping
you billowed the curtains
you soaked the sheets
& set sail my exquisite yearning

slow ancient underwater movements
distort old sorrow & new hope so profoundly
dumb love holds its breath
when nipples are bitten, lips swollen, & belly taut

i swam drunk in your churning current
swilled your potent beauty foolishly
dove heroically down to your coolest depths
& drowned in your shadowy tenderness

sails torn & rigging cracked & rudder bent
i woke shivering & alone on the noontide shore
unclenched my waterlogged fist to stare at
the cherished gem, proof, plunder

but your heart vanished & all I held was a tiny dark stone
plucked blindly from the bottom of the ocean
now i roam the lonely black sea longing for lost treasure
& even night itself feels forsaken for ever having embraced you

….

© rhon drinkwater 2008

The Saga of Swagger, Highlights | 1 Comment »

In all things sensual
there are woman who are extravagant.
I cheer for a woman who rebelled,
an ample and buttery and fertile and ripe
woman who luxuriates in her own rich velvet.
She is a fat cat in the sun.
I prefer the precious plump dimpled knees
of a baby girl just big enough to be cupped in my hands
— heart full, mouth delicious, belly wanting.
I prefer that grand diva with cheeks plump and proud,
parting her lush opera curtains.
She is a luxury liner cutting ancient seas.
The woman I love does not
politely nibble life like a salad.
She is desire unbound and voracious
and she knows this.
I love a woman who is fat
because she allowed herself to be free.

The Saga of Swagger, Highlights | 4 Comments »