she   separates  air, closing the space, drawing near.

words fall, lips part, fingers touch,  skin tightens

body beats;

together     a rhythm     of sound  and desire

seduction     in imagination.  She is mine.

© fcs September, 2009


some moments, some minutes or

hours or days are more    uncertain than others and yet

we breathe   …    still;    wanting little more than

to slip into that stream, slowly submerge allself — toes, knees, thighs, sex, torso, throat, eyes and mind —

to  be surrounded by the certainty of

water’s blinding power to ease and


(c) fcs, October 30, 2009


She is not you.

You are not here.

But I will see you walking through the clouds in her eyes that come

as my silence surrounds us as it always does when

my heart stops words from tumbling from my lips and into her ears,

into her where I want to be and can’t be because she is not you.

© fcs_September 15, 2009

We Could Talk

We could talk.

You could listen as I answer your questions that might tell you something about me but

instead I will

take your left hand and place it just above my left breast so that your

fingertips can feel the pounding rage of my heart in its cage.

You could listen to me sing, that might tell you something of the tones I hold, but

I would rather

bring my lips close to your ear and hum low

to stir the tiny hairs as they vibrate you to the sound of me.

You could watch me swim, see how I play in the water, but

I want you to jump in and

show you the depth of my waters, the warm and dark secret places that

invite you to slip inside, submerge and float in me.

We could talk.

Your questions could land on me like snowflakes on a wool sweater, but

I’d prefer to peel the layers away

as you watch, your eyes seeing through to what you want

and what I need.

© fcs, October 1,  2009


this touch silences the snaps of invisible lines, the cacophonic confusions rising in your ears as you struggle to keep still.

this kiss quiets the gasping Please! that escapes your lips, unthinking in the moment, asking to stop or start or run or bleed or cry anything —  anything — to muffle the internal noise.

this word takes you, entering your awareness; settling into your belly, detonating in your mind, yielding you to  the elements from which you seek shelter.

© fcs, October 1,  2009


It wasn’t the request, but the answer that emerged.

It wasn’t the words, but what they weren’t.

It wasn’t the force, but where it hit.

It wasn’t the tears, but that they were mine.

It wasn’t the knock, but that the gates opened.

It wasn’t the taking, but that it so easily came.

It wasn’t the yes, but the storms of no before it.

It wasn’t the now, but the mountains of moments preceding it.

And it wasn’t the love.  It wasn’t love. It wasn’t.

© September 26, 2009 – fcs


If you whispered my name

in my ear while we danced I would

unfold to you with a sigh

like a symphony playing a single musical note, pianissimo.

If you pulled me to you

wrap me tightly in your arms, I would

unfold in your hold with a woooosh,

like a billowing, silken parachute.

If you touched me with

your fingers your hands your mouth I would

unfold to you one layer of skin at a time,

like origami — deconstructed.

If you reached in to pull my colours, my sounds and tastes

through your senses I would

unfold all of me,

like I belonged to only you.

If you loved me,

If you loved me I could have, could still

unfold to you.

© September 15, 2009 – fcs

One Response to GROUP OF POEMS

  1. terrisitagg says:

    Oh my. fcs, you have found your poem. I hadn’t read these before my comment this morning (re: Poem) This is devastating stuff, in a very good way. I am in awe. Thanks for sharing this with the world.

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