You glance at beauty.

It’s a silent exhilaration, a rendezvous unbeknownst to all.

You dress the four corners of your eyes with her red rose,

Releasing yourself within her smile.

The requited glimpse you elicit refracts the heat that you interred

In her tender earth, where the ear and the neck become one.

It sweltered budding petals on her back and blossomed velvety on her feverous flesh.

You perspire at her sudden control of the rein,

Your recompense for restraining your admiration to ocular amusement.

You simper.

You stare, insisting on the proposition she abandoned at a lash’s bat.

The infinity of this second, her unwithering beauty—

One that knows not of age—

Lingers in a gust of overindulged perfume, coquettish lace, metronomic stilettos, tremulous cleavage.

A sea of flowery tresses forever drowns the nameless vision,

As faceless now as when she was unseen.

You blink away the temptation.

You look again, haunted by the loss of what you never had.

The ghost of what you could have been.



1939 Tournament of Roses queen [Graphic]. Los Angeles Public Library Photo Collection. Accessed on 11/30/2017

The Depths Of You

It is a fervor unfettered by the flesh.
A spirit departing through the fingertips, entering the fibers of our shared pulse,
Diffusing a balmy exhalation that preludes their embrace;
Respiring the sweet scent of its anticipation.

It is a dialogue in the veins that emanates from our innermost being,
A sensation that fills the profundity of my joints.
A magnetism triggered in our bones
Whose melody resounds in their cobwebbed cavities.

The silent weeping of yearning tendons outstretching,
Wailing as one without a mother for a home that in the hand of a friend I have found.
Mortal hands that for an instance transgress the rotating tyranny of the clock’s,
Denuding the muscles of their strength, clothing them in warm blood nectar.

Our wistful thinking to fill a space within by closing the one between us
Traverses all the layers of being, and transcends all the planes of existence.
This gripping impulse excavates a new vessel for me within yourself.
A place in which to berth our friendship.

A blend of our palms, their interlocking asymmetry,
Rekindles the cherished imperfections of first love,
And stokes the light conducing us on a shared path.
Embracing the soul of a friend.


Dedicated to R.S. Noel for reminding me that writing has the restorative power to transport us into a better world, even in the darkest of hours.

Thank you for the shout-out. Let’s continue to foster this positive writers’ community, the Writers’ Tribe, in which we can all feel free to share with others what is in our hearts.


Oseguera, J. L., Jr. (2017). Fate Is In The Hands [Layered Image]. stripSearchLA, Los Angeles.