There's something about dark mornings,
That make kissing so exquisite,
and how my hands reach for your curves,
Like you are air,
and my lungs are starved of it,
I can't wait to touch you,
Breathe life into your neck,
and watch your legs part,
Because you can't resist,
How much I love you
How much I need you,
Because you can't resist,
Being **Mine

Like spit in the fire
Like seed in the snow
******
And a solemn me

If you leave me
I will send you poetry
And if we marry
And you leave me
I will send you poetry
And alimony
And if your new guy beats me
I will still send you poetry
Your bones could leave this sad world baby
And I'd just switch to elegies

Cranes accuse the sky
As people swarm like ***** in
A ******* jungle

Few can pronounce it
Unless Scandinavian.
The r's are all rolling,
And the letters all sound...
More or less not as
In English.
Just let it go, it's a 'twister,
I know.

My names are all old-norse,
Not modern Norwegian.
(Viking-speak sounded
More close to Icelandic).
Sverre means "spin like an arrow",
Expression for being untamed; un-
Controllable; wild-man.
G is for Guttorm: "Where Gods
Seek Shelter"; a fortress for those
One thought needed one least.
Holter means "edge of the woods";
The end of the forest (or where it
Begins).

The Wildman Where the
Gods Seek Shelter at the
Edge of the Woods.

My friends call me Sverre.
It is a name I've shared with
Swordbearing kings.
I am equally proud
When addressed.

My muse, where are all the
poems about cheese?

Where is your infinite material?
Is it somewhere in the
memory or tangible space?

Does it come from me
or do I reach for it as it falls
like gravity pulling dust motes
not quite heavy enough

I go where I have not
been once inside where
I've gone, but did you lead
me here? Are we tea before
steeping?

Does the water leach color from the tea,
or do the leaves happily oblige?