Voiceless –
What is the point of language
when “No” is rejected
and “Stop” is ignored?

He wasn’t taught to listen,
to distinguish the difference
between pleasant moans
and squeals of agony.

One day, I will learn
how to talk again.
I will be hoping
that next time,
my voice will be heard.

Poetry by Jeremy Mifsud
Photo by Jason Rosewell on Unsplash


Turbulent Dreamwork

Turbulent Dreamwork

Turbulence on a sailboat,
winds carrying it seaward;
those onboard in a frenzy.

He invaded my dreams,
with a shirt – unbuttoned,
revealing his chest hair
fearlessly facing the storm.

He jumped onto the boat
and with a mighty dagger
ripped the sails apart, so
the gales could no longer
pull it forcibly their way.

Infuriated, the gods roared
the tempest stronger; the
waves rocked the boat until
ocean swallowed them whole.

Horror in my eyes, afraid of
losing him before a chance
to kiss his lips and whisper
that I wanted to be only his.

* * *

When the storm dispersed,
I was crying on the shore.

Emerging from the waters
with no fractured bones
and no bleeding wounds,
it was he; alive, unharmed.

He took me into his arms,
holding me ever so tight;
this is what safety feels like.


Poetry by Jeremy Mifsud

Photo by Bobby Burch on Unsplash

Bite Marks

Bite Marks

I want my body to show
the euphoria I feel
when I am with you.

You press your teeth
hard against my skin.

You leave bite marks
slightly above my hips,
where your hands seize
to draw me into you.

The bruises slowly fade,
memories last a lifetime.
The aching subsides,
whilst in my moaning,
your name resides.

Infliction is a thrill;
we are both winners
in this lustful game.

Poetry by Jeremy Mifsud
Photo by Fernando @cferdo on Unsplash