Erotic Poem

The Well-Oiled Machine

The car effortlessly shifts into a higher gear, its engine purring at the increase in acceleration.

Pedal to the floor, the transmission grunts and responds, vaulting the car forward.

The gears grind while the car works like the well-oiled machine it is.

The driver slams on the brakes, the car screams and gasps as its tires rub roughly against the hard road.

Panting, the car rests shortly before resuming its race,

Where its engine hums and vibrates in a hypnotic sigh. 

The Shadow Poem

Selfish

I avert my gaze from the homeless beggar on the side of the road.

I will give him money next time, I say.

I know I should, but for some reason I cannot.

I am selfish.

In kindergarten we were taught to share,

And it’s not that I don’t care,

It’s just I feel like I am letting a part of me go.

I’m losing my worth to the side of the road.

How can I give to some and not to others?

There are always more people in worse conditions,

These are the things I tell myself,

So my greed can grow, alongside my health,

So I will never have to lose my sense of wealth.

Nonsensish Poem

Through and About

Walking and talking through and about the novel. Skimming and flipping, avoiding the light drizzle. But it’s pouring. Shame, the pages are soaked through and about. Meandering now. Not lost, but aimless. Rain hits the cobblestone pitter patter. I watch from within the confines of my mind, thank God I’m not out there, but rather trapped inside myself. Pitter patter. Again, I begin to worry. Will I ever make it home, or have my travels consumed me. Shame I can’t make it home for dinner.  I know the sky will open to the heavens, but when the white marble staircase crashes down I fear I may miss it, because I’ll already be on my way.