In this field of dreams


Though I walk alone in this golden field I feel you occupy the spaces I have created for you in my heart. I reach out to you with my soul and find you waiting. Always there. Always ready.

As the sun rises I see you revealed in front of me, a play of light on the morning mist transformed by the magic of this day and this place into you. There and not there. A welcome vision that begs me “follow.”

You dance playfully ahead of me, leading me through this field of gold that sways in the light breeze as if to an unheard song. It is the song of the Universe. A song in which we play a line of perfect harmony.

You wear sandles to protect your feet as you skip and run ahead of me but you are dressed as you were before we made love last night. Panties that cling to your beckoning moisture. A sleeveless top that exposes your soft belly that invites my kisses and celebrates the curve of your soft breasts. You are more beautiful than the rising sun, more alluring than a cool spring on a hot day, more graceful than the birds that sing your name, more inspiring than this field of dreams I follow you through.

You turn your head to me and smile or hop backwards as you laugh and call out to me then dance ahead again as you sing songs with outrageous lyrics and laugh with innocence at the filthy words that conjure sensual delight. You are drunk on passion. Filled with an enticing energy that can not be ignored. Why would even consider ignoring you? Never!

You are a nymph sent by the goddess intent on seducing me with song and dance. You are goddess possessed. You are playful sprite. Your laughter is a siren call that I am bound by.

But in this mystic island caught outside time, there are no shores to crash upon. No hidden pond to drown in. No tricks of delight.

Here I become satyr to your nymph as I follow you. I long to take you here, now and forever in this sacred place. Though there is no mythical altar to offer my devotion I worship upon the altar of your heart which I carry always with me and where a blazing fire always rages.

You reach the highest point then slow, your song now turned to a sweet lull, a hum, you turn to me, head lowered with a knowing smile, lips parting, eyes locked on mine, arms raised slightly from your sides, palms facing me, fingers spread, welcoming my tender embrace as I step into you, pull you close, and whisper the words, “Soon, My Love.”

I stand there for an eternity. Not wanting to leave this place. Wanting only to feel your skin against mine, our lips brushing, hands touching and tracing each other, hearts beating as one, souls joined, but the morning grows late.

I open my eyes and the field, though just a field, is now something more. Something truly magic. Though you were never here your presence remains. I can feel the warmth of you even now and hear those words you said as I watched you fade away as if they were a spell, “Yes, Darling. Soon.”




Image by J.M.Greff

You should have been there


I carried you in my heart, as a part of my soul, as I always do, but you should have been there.

You should have been with me as I travelled from place to place searching for my Self.

Should have been there as I raged and cried. As I laughed and sang and danced and tried to sleep.

You should have been there holding my hand as the fear and tension grew and subsided, raised and fell, like waves.

Should have shared my joy at reaching the summit of that long trail and my sorrow at finding it empty. Should have held me close as the tears flowed. A river of emotion. Like the rain that refused to fall.

Should have been there so we could have made love on that high stoney peak. Or in the lush green valley below. Or along the miles of trail leading there. On the side of the road while I decided which direction to go next. In the parking lot of those places I had no real interest in being. Not without you you. Not without you.

You should have been there when I found myself, there by that hidden lake in the middle of nowhere. There as my eyes cleared and my inner turmoil subsided. There as I found my feet exactly where they should be; below me on the path I chose so long ago. No longer trying to outrun me. No longer leading me to those distant places.

You should have been there but you weren’t because we are not together. Not a “thing”.

Never have been.

May never be

May be

For now I am the man you want but are, for good reasons, afraid to have and you are the woman I do not deserve. Not yet

But you should have been there.

I wanted you there.

I know you wanted that too.

I don’t want to fuck you [as published in Elephant Journal]


Sex is overrated.

Don’t get me wrong, I do love a good romp in the sheets as much as the next person—but sex, in and of itself, is really nothing more than the fulfillment of the human need to reproduce.

It feels good, because it’s supposed to. That’s what makes us want to do it again and again—and again. But, when it comes down to it, all that bumping, grinding, moaning, sweat, and ecstasy that lasts anywhere from several minutes to several hours is really just two dogs in heat answering the call of nature—and I find nothing appealing in that thought.

No, what I want is to make love.

Making love is an act of tender affection that never ends. It begins in the morning when I wake you with soft kisses on your neck and a whisper of love in your ear.

It moves to the living room where, still naked, we do yoga together—helping each other with those difficult stretches. Our bodies working together, as in some mystical game of Twister that ends in shared meditation. Your hand holds mine on your heart, while I hold yours on mine. We share breath, inhale for exhale, and our combined awareness grows.

It carries into the shower, where life-giving water flows over our bodies, which touch and bump lightly. The careful caress of your shoulders. The way I wash your hair for you. It’s how you towel me dry, and how I kiss you gently and wish you a “Good morning, beautiful.”

In the kitchen, we share our plans for the day, read each other the news, and share coffee. We joke, and smile, and rant—and when the last minute we can spend together comes, we kiss passionately. We kiss like we may never see each other again, like we know, absolutely, that today the world could end—and that this could be our last kiss. Then, we get into our cars and drive away, into those worlds that only serve to support our little paradise.

During the day, I text love quotes and send silly memes of cats—and I tell you how much I love you. Not just on those “special” days, but every day, because every day with you is special to me.

When the day is over—and they are never over soon enough—we meet at home and give each other what we need to end our day, whether it be to discuss our day or to withdraw long enough to separate from the outside world that ever threatens to find its way into our shared life.

We talk while we prepare dinner together. Simple talk. Small talk, though there is nothing small about it. It has purpose. It lightens the mood and releases the last of the workday stresses before we share our meal. I feed you with my hands and lick the olive oil from your fingers after you dip your bread. You kiss the crumbs from my lips.

We clear the table and do the dishes together—our hands touching in the warm soapy water, our bodies close and warm.

If there is time (and there is rarely time these days), we sit in quiet adoration of each other on the couch while a movie plays. I won’t remember which movie tomorrow—I will only remember the feel of your hand in mine. The way you touch my neck. The feel of your breasts pressed against me. The warmth and comfort of you as you rest your head on my chest, and I pull you close.

When the movie has ended, we will move to the bedroom where I will undress you slowly, so I can memorize every perfect flaw of your body. The small mole on your arm. The tiny scar where your brother broke a glass when you were 10 years old. The circle on your arm from childhood vaccinations. The love lines of motherhood. I want to drink you in and make a map of the places I will visit with finger, tongue, and lips.

We will start and end with kisses and laughter, and what happens in between will be nothing less than complete union—physical, spiritual, and emotional oneness that will raise us to the Divine and proclaim our love through that most sacred ecstasy.

When we are complete, I will hold you close as you shudder with prolonged rapture. Our breath and heartbeat—for we now share both—slows. I will kiss your neck and whisper the words you know are true: “I love you”—and I’ll fall asleep knowing that you love me too.

Why would I ever want to f*ck you when I can have that?



As published in Elephant Journal


I Will Love You like the Storm.


Author: J.M. Greff 
Image: Author’s own
Editor: Yoli Ramazzina
Copy editor: Leah Sugerman
Social editor: Callie Rushto