I look soft and sweet
but I'm tough as nails
It's not that I win
but know how to fail.

Sundays smell of intimacy
The initial easing in
The slow meandering journey to x marks the spot
Circling
Round and round
Anticipation building
Bodies sweating
Momentum heaving
The right timing
The right configurations
Jockeying positions
Hands grip and pull
Finding and riding the sweet spots
Exertion. Discipline. Determination.
My compass rose
navigated

Another salty Sunday sailboat race

Her spirit was tousled,
unbuttoned and daring; brazen,
speaking in a wild language.

Every interaction
another opportunity to tell me
how much I hurt you.
How loving me
makes you a fool.
Please forgive me
for not being swept off my feet
and allowing you
to plunder my depths.

If ever I start to baah and bleet
And start to turn into a sheep
Slap me good and slap me hard
Keep me out of the farm yard
Bring to light the mindless plight
And remind me that I howl at night.

Unidentifiable nomads
Hot-wired
Dancing rootless, lean and hard
In the rhythm of now

Dear Future,
I see you sitting there. Plying at my mind all the time. Undecided. You want something concrete. Security. Only you you don't understand my heart is not on the same page. It's not on the page at all. It is soaring. Riding the wind. The currents. I must be in motion. Always in between arriving and leaving. This is where I thrive. In this breath. The one I'm currently breathing. It is truly all I have and that is everything. I know you don't understand. how could you? You are the future. Ever ahead. Always the horizon. All I can say is one day I will inevitably meet you, upon my death, and o the stories I will have to tell.