Intimacy...a hand on flank..careful..
.you'll break me....with your gentle hands..
..My hard mouth....your soft lips..
..unruly, unruled....old horse...a kiss.
.. Confused, ...stallion in name only.
... You whisper... My ears prick..
... forward..the hunt! ....your scent on..
..My bridle...I smell u still...
.Gentled, not too gently....a strong hand.
. It grows trust …..truth...a Stallion! Once more.
Panting...pawing...'Be easy'..nervous eyes roll.
.a hand on the neck...a caress..'Gently '...you whisper,
.... hot breath against ear
… I snuffle and toss my head
…. still a bit frightened…..her power!
..Will you ride.? ! ..firm thighs and buttocks..
..Toes point... Heels dig...all Give and Take….
. Instruction to...from...the muscled beast.
..straddled. Awkward… too long without….
..A Rider … the matching... Gait with hip...
Walk-on.. Trot, pounding...Heels clip.
..faster, just a bit..Then smoothly they fit her to him.
...a canter.....this long stretch....rocking like one creature
….each a part of the other...breathing evenly…
...caught ….. Breath comes quick...bodies warm.
. Exertion...strength..trust.. Leaning forward..
knees grip..pulling...toes curl..in..
..hot breath..whisper in an ear… Now!
...hands grip mane... As they clench
… bit between the teeth...She..
...gives him his head... Finding his rhythm
…. home in sight...a last burst……
Rider/Stallion sweat soaked … blood pounding.
..she whispers… yes oh yes… I knew…
you had it in you.. In me...oh gods….YES! ! .
. No! not the pasture yet for you.. She chuckles..
.bodies tangled in sheets ….. Her mane of dark hair..
Scent of her fills him …
glad to be..Alive? Yes..head…. Heat…
heart...bursting…Not now… But soon.
. A gift.. This youth.. Who see's value in an old war horse.
..ridden.. but no more to war and blood..
.gentled, both he and she… sleep…bridled passion.
..her...a scent of sweet hay…
.him...an old spice..and gunpowder? ..mmm.
by Alexander K Hamilton
The lavender sweet perfume;
A little too old for you
Though you were always more
Of a summer child
I seized you in a Winters night
Together we took flight
You crumble I know
Under a gentle kiss,
Not nips and grips
At such tenderness,
I value you sweet Delilah
With more than primitiveness
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
That dusky lavender scent
Still draws me in,
The cuddliness of the years
Still comforts inward tears
And I never let go of you, my girl
That young sweet 16,
Who never knew love
Though all those many years ago
You played me for a security- false
It was true, sincere
I needed you here;
Now that you’re gone,
I feel myself disappear.
Where would we all be
When our organs are failing
And our hair white
If we were all still together
Fellow friends who I have lost
To death and to life
I wish I could know
How it all ended up
A reunion of sorts
To recall what has passed
And to finally see what we have become
Nothing we ever dreamed I am sure
But all I can do is imagine
What to do,
Know there is,
must be something
Propel me forward
bathed in cosmic energy
wilting in the Sun
I was standing at the corner
Of Yonge and Bedlam Ave.,
When I spied a chap across the way,
The image of my Dad.
He had one thumb in his pocket,
The fingers hung outside.
His other arm craddled a book,
As often in his life.
His weight was shifted to the right,
With head cocked to the side;
He wore his cap over one eye,
Tweed jacket open wide.
He raised his head,
As I did mine,
Looked to me and nodded;
He smiled and touched
The edge of his brim,
I did the same as him.
We crossed with the light.
Where he belongs;
Me, to the library,
My book was overdue.
spills on the kitchen counter
grains of Christmas Blend
don’t remember who
was so thoughtful
Never scramble eggs
with a mixture of
Time for morning
nothings to do
still so much to
respond to e-mail
call your mother
make a list
When the moon doesn’t move fast enough for love
I look at its reflection in the ocean
I never let the moment forget whose life it is
And it's not about stillness but instead motion
I opened my eyes too soon
Only in dreams do I take the time to ask questions
Whoever sent it to me said take my time
But in my haste I forgot to remember his suggestions
A mariner across the sand needs no arc
It is the same with a camel as a wooden ship
The life you leave behind is not enough for fear
What matters is the courage to make the trip
Have my virtues changes as I’ve aged?
I cannot believe in what no longer tempts me
And I cannot pretend I have grown stronger
What is easy to resist is not living free
I never want to think we’ve met before
To be reminded of so many others
It only means I’m looking over your shoulder
I can’t paint with everybody else’s colors
Am I myself or what life says I must be?
I know the answer but it depends on the time
Drawing a road in the desert is how we do it
What seems the same to you is not in my mind
If you asked if I would skinny dip
You would have hit it on the nose.
But that was back when I was still
Rather attractive without clothes.
Now I don’t go around naked
As long as it is in my power.
I’ve gotten so fat and wrinkly
I wear undies even in the shower.
I’m not kidding around a bit
When I talk about this aging stuff.
I not only don’t look so sexy
When I walk around in the buff,
There are certain types of clothes
I do much better to avoid wearing;
Me in sweat pants or leggings
Is not a sight I enjoy sharing.
I’ve begun to look a bit like
Laundry that is not quite dry.
I’m not much surprised by this
Because I understand why.
I have been around a long time
And have enjoyed my ice cream
But it makes one into a pudding
And makes other people scream.
It’s just not a good idea these days
To show of what time has done.
There are such things as hotties
But I know for sure I am not one.
You know those Botox babies
You see on the Hallmark Channel?
Notice how they don’t look like
Their faces are made of flannel?
Well, I’m not into all that stuff,
That reconstructive surgery.
I don’t expect to look today
Like an escapee from a nursery.
I just make wardrobe choices well
Bearing my current self in mind.
I look upon some of it as wise
And some of it as me being kind.
Wherever he went the visitor left a note
A small one, barely a centimetre long,
Beneath a glass or jug, on which he wrote
The same incomprehensible song.
Oh yes! It made no sense. Not a bit.
Which is why he left it
The town became used to his fleeting presence
A joke, a laugh, a drink, then gone
It didn’t matter that he made no sense
Or that his odour, also left behind, was so wrong.
It didn’t matter one little bit;
Which is why he did it.
He floated in with the sunshine and dust
Not by the door. They quickly forgot what he looked like,
His name, if he possessed one; precise objects of his lust;
The tone of his voice; whether his build was heavy or light,
He had no substance or distinguishing features
In the usual manner of such invisible creatures.
He left only a memory, flaky as rust
The half-remembered shades of those with diminishing sight
The first kiss, a balloon that goes bust,
The unseen hand that turns out the light.
Like aging, he unravelled each mind, stitch by stitch,
An accident waiting to happen, disease, misfortune or glitch.
If he visits, struggle to recall something
When he’s gone. He will take part of you with him.
Changes will be rung, sans mind, soul, sans everything,
Disposed of through time, fate or whim.
He freely comes, unrecognised
Unnamed, unknown, unexorcised.