Hibiscus Dreams


It was

a fever state,

hot and delirious;

being in love.


Love was a febrile hallucination, a trick of the mind.

Lurid colors, vivid imagery, rich emotion,

desperate beauty;

a haunting vision

that can’t be unseen.

Our bodies were tumid fruit

that ripened

in the sultriness of love’s summer.

We gorged ourselves on textures and tastes;

the enchanting sweetness of lust,

the decorous tartness

of impatient longing.

The sumptuous spice

of passionate encounters.

The bitter sourness of ugly hurts,

those dark momentsĀ that crystallized

into insidious weeds

and took root in the space between us,

thatĀ gave the kiss of death

to our hibiscus dreams.


In the cool blue light

of nighttime,

I feel inside myself

for you,

caressing the empty spaces

where your memory lies;

teasing at the edges of loss,

touching the pleasure that remains.


I blossom endlessly with wanting,

love’s eternal flower,

red petaled,

bright and pretty,

subtly fragrant.

I am one

who dreams of you,

the bee

that stung me.



My body rained heavily over yours

like a tropical storm

onto the firm waiting earth,

seeping into you,

warm and wet.
With the raw force

of nature

you entered me

again and again.
And in that one moment

Time uncupped itself

from its sheath,

emerging fresh

as a blossoming lotus flower

out of the silty muck,

to become a poem.

For that one moment,

you were mine.

We Watched A Falling Star

   I was so tender-hearted 

when I loved you,

years ago in a Northern hamlet 

by a glacial lake.
My hopes for love 

were still intact then,

noble and sacred edifices

constructed from an ancient narrative;

grand yet vulnerable 

like the Buddhist statues at Bamiyan

before they were destroyed.
We watched 

that star fall together,

one night when we sat 
in thoughtful companionship by the lake edge.

Deer crept stealthily through the pines behind us

and we watched it

swirl across the sky 

like 4th of July fireworks,

then plummet.
Now my heart knows

what can happen

to majestic things.
Though I no longer hope

for you,

I still 



Dark Pleasure

A dark pleasure.

You were the one

to lead me

into this shadow dream.

You beckoned me

with your penetrating stare,

your high cheekboned haughtiness,

your eyes impassive and stony,

your cheeky necklace of carved bones.

You tantalized me

with omens and portents,

with aggressive kisses,

pretty words full of poison,

seductive lures.
Until I surrendered


to your naked depravity.

You hijacked my body

like a thug,

breaking and entering,

violently taking over,

until all I wanted

was you.

Then you were an inside job.

You were inside me

and I needed you

to stay

with me.

I sought primal wholeness

in you,

like a snake eats its tail.

Like a shaman eats

the vine of the dead,

seeking completion

at the edge of the abyss.

La petite mort.

You annihilate me,

my lover,

yet still

I soar.

Dusky Rose


Do you still drink
of my succulence
in the hot July heat 
of a faraway dream,
my ethereal scent of geranium
rising from your night sweat,
a fragrant, poignant memory?

You know 
my taste is sweet,
that of plumeria honey.

Flowering in the sensate garden 
of my bed,
I turn towards you,
in vivid sleep.

You are my beloved ghost,
cradled in the flourishing vines
of my arms.

You may see me
as a Venus fly trap,
cunning and expedient.

But I am not that, no.

I am a dusky rose,
carefree and forgiving.

A beautiful flower,
unwittingly planted
in the dark soil
of your mind.

Pua Nani.


In the beginning of time

I was immersed
in fresh green water,
floating inside the womb 
of Mother Earth.

She was

a vast kettle shaped well
of melted glacial ice,
of rich loamy scents of hidden algae and dried leaves 
that rose from sandy ground
to linger 
in humid air.

Resplendent with wild blueberry patches, 

pine trees and papery birches,
she mirrored a sky 
that appeared pale blue and endless
as I lay on my back,
receptive and pliant,
looking up.

I came

as a supplicant.
I brought my nascent longings
to her wooded altar.
She baptized me
in the sacred bowl
of the Northern Goddess,
blessing my body
with her patient divinity.

She made me into a witch,

in her own image.
She forged me
in silted clay.

Kind sir, these woods.
They hold magic.