Poem – Unclaimed 

To make love with a stranger is the best.
There is no riddle and there is no test. —
To lie and love, not aching to make sense

Of this night in the mesh of reference.
To touch, unclaimed by fear of imminent day,

And understand, as only strangers may.
To feel the beat of foreign heart to heart

Preferring neither to prolong nor part.
To rest within the unknown arms and know

That this is all there is; that this is so. 

Poem – Sit 

Sit, drink your coffee here; your work can wait awhile.
You’re twenty-six, and still have some life ahead.

No need for wit; just talk vacuities, and I’ll

Reciprocate in kind, or laugh at you instead.
The world is too opaque, distressing and profound.

This twenty minutes’ rendezvous will make my day:

To sit here in the sun, with grackles all around,

Staring with beady eyes, and you two feet away.