Your lips, love me fondly  
whispering life into the dormant
butterflies trapped in the
pit falls of my untrusting stomach

Your hands touch me lightly,
hesitant not to overwhelm
but never will I get enough
of their warm grasp

Your laugh lights a spark
in the heart of my forgotten humor
bringing happiness to my smile
illuminating darkness

Your passion will set the world on fire,
burning down the wrongs
replacing them with your affection
powered by past affliction  

I pray your lips, your hands,
your laugh, your passion…
do not forget me in the
flames

Her arms semaphore fat triangles,
Pudgy HANDS bunched on layered hips
Where bones idle under years of fatback
And lima beans.

Her jowls shiver in accusation
Of crimes cliched by Repetition.
Her children, strangers
To childhood's TOYS, play
Best the games of darkened doorways,
Rooftop tag, and know the slick feel of
Other people's property.

Too fat to *****,
Too mad to work,
Searches her dreams for the
Lucky sign and walks bare-handed
Into a den of bereaucrats for her portion.

'They don't give me welfare.
I take it.'

Whatever are you doing to me?
Writer-woman, epitome of Venus,
Stoking embers of my Promethean fire,
Until the coals in my heart glow,
Waxing lyrical, making love flow.

The moon, seemingly caught in the trees,
Reveals tears rolling down my face,
Sitting here, a back-garden-king,
Alone and shivering in the cold,
Hugging the warmth inside, cuddling,
With just the dark of night for company,
Comforted, for I love you, it’s true,
And never deny it; you love me too.

Only, it’s all we have, please try and see,
Nothing else matters in our own  reality,
I nurse the ache, such pain, jeez,
Hear me Muse, just hear me, please,
Take all you can, I know it’s not much,
But I offer it to you, my digital feelings.

My words, sculpting a view of heaven,
Prose dancing amongst distant starlight,
Shining in your eyes: are they also tears?
Perhaps, observed by an impassive moon,
Now beyond the clutches of leafy limbs,
As you are beyond my embracing arms.

Edges of passing clouds, illuminated,
Are you glowing, my Muse, are you?
Do my lonely words of love stir you?
Stoke hidden smouldering passions?
Do you ever think, maybe wonder,
As we tap keys on the sub-ether,
Whatever are you doing to me?

©Paul Chafer 2014

I could sit here and eat one thousand strawberries but I'd never find one that is as sweet as your lips

And I sort of fell in love with plastic cups.
The ability to fall, and never break apart.
Because, as for me.
I'm just a glass positioned a little to close to the edge of the table.

There was a magician from Bath
I couldn't help but laugh-
While performing his magic
His act turned quite tragic-
He sawed his assistant in half