Sometimes I Love You

Sometimes I love you
in a way
that bends the mind.

Sometimes I love you so much
that I soar through the night
on my little witches’ broomstick
all the way to the end of the Earth
to see you,
to hold your body against mine
and kiss your lips.

Sometimes I love you so much
that marvelous food pours forth
from the tips of my nipples,
elaborate meals, with meats and vegetables, sumptuous and satisfying,
as I sense your hunger
and wish
to feed you
from my own breast.

Sometimes I love you so much
that I lay golden eggs
in the gilded nest of my bedroom,
full of dreams
for you,
of whatever your heart desires,
like a djinni goddess of the midday boudoir,
dressed in sexy lingerie,
so that you may nurture them to maturity
with the seed
of your passion.

Sometimes I love you
and my heart stretches open
to accommodate you
as you penetrate
the inner sanctum of my soul.

Sometimes you enter me so hard,
so forcefully,
that cracks and fissures appear
within the fragile walls
of my being.

Sometimes I love you.
And sometimes not.

The Glassblower

Inner Life of Pua Nani

There is this guy. I will call him the Glassblower. I wrote a poem about him, back last year when we were dating.  That poem is at

The Glassblower, unlike my Colombian lover, or my would-be fiancé the Hyderabadi Nawab (who I have not written much about yet here), sits on the periphery of my love life.  He is almost not involved in it at all. And yet every once in awhile he floats to the surface of my dreams and becomes a preoccupation for me.

I originally met him at my gym. My gym is not a fancy place, probably pretty standard for a gym, but in addition to exercise equipment it hosts a spa area with sauna, steam room, hot tub and indoor and outdoor pools. The outdoor pool is pleasant, hidden off the street in Pleasure Point (a popular surfing spot); it is flanked by palm trees, pools…

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I may have to

perform an operation

to remove you

from my heart.


Cut you out

with a scalpel,

surgically extract you.


I know I will bleed,

and feel a lot of pain.

The healing period my be long.

I may not ever be

the same as I was before.


But sometimes


calls for extreme measures.


Happy Valentine’s Day. Love has so many forms but ultimately originates within the self…hope your day is filled with love!



You took me for a ride.
Brought me to the edge.
And for you
I crossed
on intrepid wings of rising sensation
to the other side,
flying for a moment
then falling
to a little death,
le petite mort.
My release
is a pulsating explosion of vivid color and feeling,
propelling me into
the afterglow
of the dreamworld,
where knowing is sudden
and effortless.
Doors open in my mind
and I traverse the familiar pathways through the artistic landscape of my soul
while u lie next me, fingers interlaced with mine, breathing and dropping into your private spell of sleep.
My inner journey takes me outside of time,
into the world of the ancestors
and beyond.
In my wandering I meet an emissary
of necessary wisdom.
The eternal message flows, in words unspoken:
“beneath the shallow veil
of this surface reality,
of thought and images and emotions that fleetingly possess…

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Your Lips

This week in celebration of Valentine’s Day I am sharing some of my poems offering different perspectives on love. This one speaks to the deep impression love makes on us.



Your lips are lines of a poem

indelibly written upon these breasts,

upon these hips,

like a tattoo or a scar,

an invisible mark I bear

upon my skin.

And when I decorate

the walls of my mind with stars,

those verses illuminate

like phosphorescence

in the glow of black light

and the lingering language

of your kiss

speaks to me again,

a satisfyingly long

and heartfelt ballad

that rhymes in all the right places

and transports this aching body

beyond words,

into the ecstatic agony

of memory.

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