Aubade


Dawn splits now.
The cobalt opens thick.
Thunderhead slices through nimbus
clouds.    
Beginning.
Helios billowing
east bound, hauled by horses of fire;
snorting steeds.
Son of Hyperion,
peeping through my shades, like a
voyeur


The Bass Man Caught my Soul Afire   

His palms are enormous.   Fingers,  
so large that they curl to meet mine.

They strike the chords of the black bass  
violently.   But this is part of
their love. Crimson rivers are sperm  

swimming deeply through dried blossoms,
and petrified trunks.  Can I be
your nightmare?  Can you play that song  

forever? His head lifts to speak.  

His stare pierces me through the crowd
and I know he shares this vision.
He breathes into the microphone:
“I don’t dream that often angel,
but when I do its all in red.”
All written by Christina DeJesus
©2006 by Christina DeJesus
All rights reserved.
Christina DeJesus is a college student who is currently attending Rutgers University in
Newark.  She enjoys reading and writing, sleeping in and wrestling with her boyfriend John.  
HOME | FICTION | POETRY | E-ZONE | DIARY | SUBMISSIONS | CONTACT | ADVERTISE | ABOUT US
Copyright © 2005-2006 Bare Back Magazine, all rights reserved.
Please contact the authors if you'd like to reprint articles on this site.  All copyrights are retained by original authors
Ripe Peaches
by Christina DeJesus©


Unfolded glands cleaved;
smooth skinned and juicy
at the seams.  Ripened.
Deep bruised ovaries
on silver platters.
Surreptitious bulbs
awakening from
some long humid sleep.   
These blushing virgins,
Embarrassed by me.