Tuesday, May 31, 2011


A hundred fragrances
flitted by my nostrils.
Misty dew, a floral affair,
spicy cinnamon and a macho musk.
One scent stood out
in all its grandeur:
the smell of your sweat.
Lurking in the folds
of the bedsheets;
crouching in the creases
of your shirts,
and mine;
forming dew drops
on my bare skin.

Stretch Marks

A faint crack
on fair skin.
An elastic affair
of a pregnant life?
Perhaps the triumph
of Atkin's reign?
Stretched across
the drapery of innocence,
sly scars etched
far too often,
for far too long.