Soft arms,
eyes, and curves,
for bellies and for little ribs,
and thighs and voices higher up,
and the comfort she gives me.
And the excitement of the experience.
And warm lips, round cheeks,
a gentle touch,
and confiding in someone who understands
a bit more.
I love you but it’s hard to fare.

I question myself:
Do I want a girl,
and the mind’s eye says it
could be you?
Perhaps it’s what we had,
briefly,
and the legitimate possibility
of the lovely new?

Let the limitless sky and charming nature
untangle your messy mind
and calm your heart;
And let your mind wander
how this enchanting nature works;

Is a poet still a poet
If they do not write?

A journal gathering dust,
But a yearning to write.
Am I still a poet
Without my inner light?

pull out the knife,
from where you slid it in my side.
Let the blood,
rich and rosy,
drench your hands,
a reminder, a memento
to the times we passed
untainted, warm in the sun.
Avert your eyes,
from my prostrate pain,
out of sight,
you can raise your head,
pretending the role you played
didn’t bring me down.

I'll see the land and the ocean

My future is bright
I'll be happy forever
I'll plunge into flight
I won't shed any feathers