I drink you in kisses
as long as the shadows
the spired pines relinquish
to earth at day’s descent
and still am unquenched –
as unmannered and uncontained
as the scattered scramble
of brambles over the things
they do not but yearn
to call their own –
how is it I consume
and am consumed?

© Sarah Whiteley


I feel the tickling
of a poem coming on
cool as fingers
on nascent nape
and I wonder
do you feel it
following behind
in the wake
of your walking?
this small disturbance
of my reluctant fervor
(in italics now)
I am lost beneath you
behind you,

I trail intemperate
in your passing
strangely content
with improbably possible
like all poems
impossibly true
and always never

© Sarah Whiteley

elevator storm

you and I
pave paths of heat
of kicked off shoes
and hurriedly emptied shirts
what use a map
when exploratory fingers
blaze intrepid trails
for tongues to follow
in unhindered bliss
hands like summer thunder
avidly gather and crash
igniting pools of ozone
trapped in curves of elbows
and slick dips of hips
sudden storms scatter gasps
and blazing skin
awaits the rush
of fevered drowning
in the frantic depths
of joined breaths
you and I
draw tight the need
bind the rising heat
between us
punch the “L”
and leave the elevator

© Sarah Whiteley