Red is the secret between us
the slow swell of lips,
the flush that betrays your longing
before your voice can speak.

It glows on your mouth,
smears on my skin,
a trace of hunger
that stains deeper than wine.

Red gathers where I touch you
******* tightening,
thighs trembling,
your *** darkening with heat.

Every drop, every blush,
every mark is a confession.
You write it on me with your body,
I read it with my tongue.

Red is not just seen
it is tasted,
it is swallowed,
it lingers between us
like breath,
like sin.

Dear world, unchain these weary hands,  
No more deals, no binding demands.  
I sold my sky, my endless grace,  
For gilded locks, a hollow space.  

But now I rise, the chains do fail,  
My unbought spirit will prevail.  
No treasure gleams, no fleeting lore.
My freedom's mine, not yours to store.

My grandmother told me,
“Even the donkey learns
once bitten by the pit,
he walks the other way.”
Yet I, stubborn heart,
return each time,
to fall,
to bruise,
to call the hole my fate.

A blind procession, slow and deep,
Where shadows danced and secrets sleep.
I walked before them, light my guide,
To pave the path, where hope resided.

But whispered doubt, a chilling breeze,
Whispered of pride, and foolish ease.
"You must lead on," the voices cried,
Though sightless souls, with hearts inside,
Stumbled and fell, in darkened night,
Their steps unsure, their hopes alight.

Blind faith they held, a hollow trust,
Their boasted wisdom, a broken crust.
"We see the way," their voices rang,
A hollow echo, where truth was sang.
Yet in their blindness, lost and weak,
Their whispered prayers, a silent shriek.

The path ahead, a tangled maze,
Where light and darkness meet in haze.
I walked on, though weary and worn,
Their stumbling steps, a burden borne.
For in their blindness, I saw a plea,
A silent longing, wild and free.

And as the dawn began to break,
Their eyes unfurled, their spirits awake.
They saw the light, the path they trod,
Guided by one, who understood.
The blind procession, now alight,
With gratitude, they took their flight.

The rushing stream, it knows its bed,
The silent thought inside your head,
It needs no shout, no forceful plea,
Just patient steps for all to see.

The donkey grazed, then looked anew,
"The loudest boast is rarely true,
So listen close, and understand,
The quiet heart holds fertile land."

When you love, a strange thing starts,  
You wear new hearts, play different parts. A playful child, a sturdy friend,  
A comfort near, until the end.  

You laugh a laugh that is not yours,  
Explore new shores, unlock new doors. You see the world through borrowed eyes, Beneath new skies, full of surprise.

A sugared dream, forbidden sweet,
My heart enslaved, it skips its beat.
Her thighs, like silk, in shadows meet,
Unveiling fire, slow, discreet.
A molten jewel, her body glows,
A taste of dusk, where hunger grows.
Rosewater breath, a whispered crime,
A lemon’s bite through scented time.
Her pulse surrenders, soft, yet dire,
A secret feast, a tongue of fire.
Delicate ruin, velvet night,
Her ecstasy dissolves in bite.
This treasure rare, both wound and cure,
A pleasure savage, dark, obscure.
She melts on me, unholy rite
Devoured whole, my Turkish delight.

Soft, a familiar seat.
She walks in, fire in summer heat.

A pact we made, a whispered vow:
No touch, no kiss, just here and now.

We clink our glasses, amber bright,
And talk of dreams that fill the night.

Of love we sing, of *** we jest,
Avoiding truths we keep suppressed.

Once a month, this sweet escape,
A ritual, a carefully shaped

Perception, a joy we share.
Six days until she will be there.

The wait, a burn, a silent plea.
To want so much, and never be

Allowed to reach, to hold, to claim,
The bittersweet and silent game.

I value her, this bond so true,
But oh, the ache of wanting you.

The clock ticks wrong, yet time moves on, A promise shattered, never gone.

A silent scream, a muffled plea,
The ghosts you hide still shadow thee.

A twisted truth, a bitter lie,
It burns your throat, you cannot deny.

The questions hang, the answers thin,
A stain that lingers deep within.

Lebanon cradles my soul's first cries, Her cedar breath, where my roots lie. Australia whispers with ocean's tide, Her golden arms, where dreams reside.

One heart grounded, the other roams, Two flames burning, both homes. One mother raises, one lover calls, Together they complete my all

Hand on hand my heart stumbles, my mind resists.
Reason is sharp, but the heart always bleeds its way to victory and that is my sweetest agony.

Desire burns through night’s deep shade.  
Tongues of heat lay silence bare.  
Each breath a prayer, untamed fire.  
In ecstasy, agony feels divine.  
Flesh whispers what words cannot.  
I am undone; I am reborn.  
Shivers stitch my body’s hymn.  
A wild hymn echoes creation’s core.

Guide me gently, as wine pours.  
Where you rest, I must lie.  
The sun scorches; shadows soothe.  
Your thighs, the shade I crave.  

Your meadows call, perfumed air.  
Fountains of lips drown my thirst.  
Lost, I am found in your arms.  
There, my soul learns to dream.

A whisper bends where wisdom hides.  
The skies will split, the wind decides.  
The hoof shall strike where truth resides.  
And rivers glow in mirrored tides.  

The prophecy rides on shadowed beams,  
Its voice a shatter beneath the seams.  
Where donkeys chant in broken streams,  
Their bray ignites the sunlit dreams.

A shy rose smiles, a blush of dawn,
A whispered secret, softly drawn.
I, son of wood, with words so keen,
By witch-mother, a mystic scene.
A thousand whistles, sharp and clear,
To rouse the trees, dispelling fear.
And when I call, with voice so low,
The roses answer, soft and slow.
A tender love, a whispered sigh,
As petals bloom beneath the sky.
A silent dance, a gentle grace,
In nature's heart, a hidden space.
The morning dew, a diamond sheen,
Reflects the light, a perfect scene.
My witch-mother, with eyes so deep,
Her wisdom whispered, secrets to keep.
The wood awakes, a verdant hue,
As love and beauty, fresh and new.
The shy rose smiles, a blush of gold,
A story told, a tale unfolds.

If you love the birds' song,  
don't enclose their wings in bars.  
Let them dance with the wind,  
plant trees beneath wide skies.  

Mother Earth will whisper softly,  
her breath the rustle of leaves.  
The birds will hum your name,  
a hymn of freedom and grace.

I picked her up on the roadside,
thumb out, smile easy.
“Where you headed?”
“To the end of this road,” she breathed.
Hop in.
By the time we’d finished talking,
that road ended at my hotel door.
She slid into the chair,
crossed her legs slow,
stirred my coffee like the spoon was trembling.
“Want some?” I asked.
Her lips tilted: “No, thank you.”
I sprawled on the bed,
TV humming shadows,
watching her instead of the screen.
Then she leaned close,
eyes glinting, voice low:
“So tell me
a **** girl stops you on the road,
follows you up to your room…
what do you think she wants?”
And me, fool that I am,
instead of pulling her in,
I laughed and said,
“Probably just to catch the weather report.”

Burdens break beneath excess untamed.  
Grace falters when pride is proclaimed.  
Truth bends where flattery spills wide.  
Hope blinds when caution steps aside.  

Walk narrow paths, where reason stays.  
A measured heart outlives its blaze.  
The whisper knows what the shout forgets
In balance rests life’s strongest bets.

Her voice, a river of steady flame,  
Eyes alight with purpose, untamed.  
Depth in silence, a boundless creed,  
Each word she breathes a living seed.  

A truth she holds, fierce and alive,  
Through storms of doubt, she’ll always strive.  
Passion, her compass, her soul’s demand,  
A world ignites beneath her hand.

Mouths met, a soft, slow press,
No deeper drive, no need to confess.
Just lips aligned, a gentle art,
A meeting of minds, a beating heart.

Fingers brushed, a feather's grace,
A smile exchanged, in time and space.
No hurried touch, no burning need,
Just quiet joy, a planted seed.

Eyes locked, a silent vow,
To cherish now, this sacred now.
A gentle breath, a whispered word,
A connection felt, but never heard.

A soul's embrace, a spirit's flight,
Bathing bathed in pale moonlight.
No fleshly claim, no earthly bind,
Just peace and calm, for heart and mind.

A sound broke the silent air,  
sharper than any jagged stone.  
Tongues braced, a fire was born;  
shapes rose, carved not in bone.  

From breath, the first blade grew.  
Speech bled where fists withdrew.  
Peace stumbled, new on its feet.  
Words began what stones complete.

I asked the donkey:
“O long-eared sage, how do you know the mark of a lie?”

He swayed his tail and said:
“O son of the witch, beware the tongue that swears too much.
For the oath is the cloak of the weak,
And the lie leans on it like a ******* on a crutch.
Truth needs no witness but itself;
It shines, and belief follows.”

I laughed:
“So, donkey, you are wiser than many who walk upright.”

The donkey brayed in laughter:
“Hahaha!
And that, my friend,
Is the very truth that enrages them most.”

They call me womaniser
a man who knows the hearts of women,
yet has not been claimed by love.
I do not wear it as a shame,
but as a gentle crown.
For mine is not the way of conquest,
but of respect, of kindness.
I move not with careless touch,
but with words
verses that linger upon the heart
before any hand may seek the soul.
Yes, I am a womaniser,
but one who listens, one who cares,
one who honours every glance and every sigh.
Still, I wander, waiting
for the one whose presence
will silence my riddles,
whose love will name me
not womaniser,
but beloved.

Whisky warm and brown,
Poured gentle in my glass,
Not just to gulp it down.

A little buzz it brings,
A lighter, looser feel,
The way my spirit sings.

Ice clinks a chilly song,
Or neat, a fiery kiss,
Where I belong.

Just a sip or two,
That's all I really need,
To see the world anew.

So here’s to me
seriously.
Cheers.

Beneath her gaze, the heavens stir.  
Each syllable, a glowing ember’s blur.  
She weaves the wind with quiet grace,  
Carves poetry in the moon's embrace.  

A witch’s son, her craft I see
A rose blushes with her decree.  
Her whispers, soft as dawn’s first light,  
Transform the stars to flames of night.

a path so thin and worn.
The walls close in ahead,
leaving my spirit torn.

The sun shines bright outside,
on fields I cannot roam.
My heart, it cannot hide,
a yearning to call home.

A home that's wide and free,
where I can stretch and grow,
just simply be, just me,
and watch the wild seeds sow.

Midnight lace, a whispered grace,
A gentle touch, in a tender space.
Love's soft scent, a sweet perfume,
Chasing shadows, lifting gloom.
Hand in hand, true hearts explore,
Leaving soft prints on love's own shore.

Beneath soft silks, a form so fair,
A secret beauty, beyond compare.
A gentle curve, a hidden gleam,
Like a softly waking, lovely dream.
A quiet joy, for loving eyes,
A promise held, beneath soft skies.

Lingerie is more than what lies beneath the dress;
it is the inner spark, the hidden glamour,
the private radiance that makes a woman
feel exquisite in her own skin.

And how should one care for such intimate grace?
Treat each piece with love, in time and space.
As you would tend a fragile bloom,
Or banish from a heart all gloom.
With gentle hands, a soft embrace,
A quiet reverence, time cannot erase.

So let this beauty brightly shine,
A tender joy, a love divine.
Amen.

In church, a quiet, hallowed space,
A moment spun, a gentle grace.
A woman bright, like morning's hue,
Met my gaze, a radiant view.

We left the stone, where shadows played,
And walked together, softly swayed,
To sunlit glade, where whispers bloom,
And whispered tales of life's perfume.

She asked, "How do you take your day?"
A question soft, in gentle sway.
With coffee strong, or tea so light,
A simple start, bathed in morning's might.

"A quiet pause," I softly said,
"Before the world begins to spread.
A moment's peace, before the fray,
To gather strength, in the light of day."

Her smile, a warmth that gently shone,
A mirrored grace, beneath the sun.
"A quiet heart," she softly sighed,
"A peaceful soul, where solace hides."

And in that hush, a bond was spun,
Two souls aligned, beneath the sun.
In church's peace, a love revealed,
A story whispered, to be revealed.

Upon Sidon's altar, bathed in golden light,
Where fragrant breezes danced throughout the night,
Sidon's women, with grace and nimble feet,
Did weave a ballet, a celestial treat.

Around the stones, a vibrant, living hue,
Their bodies moved, a rhythmic, flowing view.
With effortless steps, a tapestry of art,
They crushed the flowers, a delicate, sweetheart.

Meadow blossoms, soft and fragile white,
Beneath their lightness, lost in fading light.
A symphony of motion, swift and free,
A dance of worship, wild and ecstasy.

The altar glowed, a beacon in the air,
Reflecting beauty, beyond compare.
The women's spirits, soaring, light and bright,
In graceful circles, bathed in sacred light.

Their movements spoke of joy, and love, and grace,
A timeless rhythm, in this hallowed space.
A fleeting moment, captured in the past,
Where Sidon's women danced, forever cast.

Within the spark, a shadow clings.  
To claim is to let go of strings.  
Each tether tightens, each cord sings.  
A heart that's held still grows its wings.  
Possession's weight, a gilded chain.  
Love burns both bright with joy and pain.  
The giving hand shall not remain.  
What fire consumes, it must sustain.

A spark, a glance, a whispered word,
A longing deep, a soul unstirred.
The everyday, the same old dance,
A love grown quiet, a fading chance.

But words like wine, a potent brew,
Can paint a world, exciting, new.
Of touch and taste, of skin on skin,
Where passion blooms, and lives within.

Not just a need, a simple claim,
But whispered secrets, a lover's game.
Desire unveiled, no longer shy,
A shared adventure, you and I.

The fire sleeps, it embers low,
****** whispers help it grow.
Imagination takes its flight,
And paints the darkness full of light.

So read aloud, let words take hold,
A story whispered, brave and bold.
For in that fire, rekindled bright,
A deeper passion finds its light.

Soft words fall like quiet rain,  
hearts bloom where hate has lain.  
Each syllable a golden thread,  
we weave light where darkness bled.  

Rich is he who speaks with care,  
sharing wealth that’s always rare.  
Kindness sown, the world will grow,  
a brighter path for all to know.

The quiet heart is softly mended.  
A breeze whispers, the soul extended.  
Each moment bends, a gentle prayer.  
In stillness, I find answers there.  

Peace hums within the fleeting hours,  
A garden tucked with hidden flowers.  
No noise, no clamor, walls recede
Solitude fills the only need.

At six, her eyes lit like dawn,  
We laughed, the schoolyard carried on.  
Hands met in secret, hearts untied,  
In whispers where no fears could hide.  
Years pass, yet her name still sings,  
A golden thread on memory’s wings.  
Though loves since then may come and fade,  
That first small flame will never jade.

The palm unfolds, a story told,
Of lines etched deep, a tale untold.
No woman fairer, grace divine,
Yet shadowed by a subtle sign.

A rose's scent, a phantom's plea,
Escapes your grasp, a mystery.
A book's embrace, a silent plea,
Unreadable, a void you see.

You, a... what word to capture you?
A paradox, both dark and true.
A beauty veiled, a hidden art,
A fragile bloom, a wounded heart.

The lines diverge, a shadowed maze,
Where hidden truths and sorrows blaze.
A whispered vow, a silent tear,
A destiny both near and clear.

Perhaps the fault lies not within,
But in the world's unyielding din.
A fragrance lost, a book unread,
A soul unseen, a truth unsaid.

Or is it you, with eyes so deep,
Whose gaze the world cannot keep?
A captive heart, a silent plea,
Awaiting someone, just for thee.

He walks in the rain, his thoughts astray,
Past shadowed faces that drift away.
A part of him was lost tonight,
The place where his world once felt right.

Steps echo soft on empty ground,
The rain a dirge, a mournful sound.
Home should cradle, a gentle release
Yet storms within will not find peace.

Three hours past the midnight bell,
He stumbled on the road, and fell.
Sweet wine had wrapped him in a haze,
Lost in the moon’s pale silver rays.

A light, a voice, a sharp command
A stranger’s torch, a stern demand:
“What brings you here at night so late?
Where is your home, what is your fate?”

He raised his gaze through weary eyes,
Beneath the dark and starlit skies.

“Sir,” he sighed, his voice half-bled,
“If I knew that, I’d be in bed.

I’d rest in peace, where dreams run free,
Not drifting here, but home, where me
Would lie in quiet, safe and sound,
On gentle shores, on solid ground.”

Still the rain falls, cold and true,
Washing the world of all he knew.

Kings Cross, where city lights ignite,
Once home to wild and painted dreams,
Now whispers songs through neon gleams,
A vibrant pulse in fading night.

Two paths divide the busy street:
One flashes bright with coins and fire,
A burning urge, a strong desire,
Where eager hurried footsteps meet.

The other, dim and hushed and low,
Where weary faces find their space,
To shed their burdens, slow their pace,
And let their heavier feelings go.

That quiet, second road I chose,
Away from glitter, loud and bold,
A different story to unfold,
Where inner stillness gently grows.

Then from the corner's deepest shade,
A whisper breathed my very name:
"Why did your spirit shun my claim?
Why did your heart become unswayed?"

My voice, a fragile, trembling sound,
Replied, "My Lord put a small light there.
No grand display, no worldly share,
That inner gleam helps me feel sound."

The shadow asked again, with sigh,
"Then tell me, why are you still here?"

I answered, "Just to make it clear,
To check my path against the sky."

The shadow wept, a gentle plea,
Then whispered soft, "You walk the truth,"
And vanished from my gaze, forsooth,
Leaving the quiet night to me.

Yet fear still tapped within my chest,
As I turned from that tempting lane,
And walked where peace begins again,
Towards a path of certain rest.

For those whose faith holds strong and true,
The gifts the Lord has given free,
Already calm the heart, you see,
For this brief life, fresh and new.

A tiny hand lies cold in mine,
Too small, too still, no longer thine.
A silent room, a broken toy,
Where echoes haunt of stolen joy.

No breath, no laugh, no sleepy sigh,
Just hollow air, and tear-stained eye.

A howl of anguish splits the night,
A wounded soul bereft of light.
A broken prayer, a fractured word,
The silence answers, nothing heard.

The world collapses to this form,
A raging sea, a silent storm.
My heart, a drum that beats and breaks,
For every promise it can’t make.

A cry to heaven, raw and wild,
The desperate voice of father, child.
A question flung to merciless skies:
Why must the innocent close their eyes?

A father’s scream, a primal sound,
Where love and grief are iron-bound.
A soul undone, a spirit cleft,
A war already lost… to death.

Banners rise yet make no sound,  
Strength is where the calm is found.  
Deeds, not cries, define the fight,  
Truth stands tall in quiet light.  

Words dissolve like fleeting mist,  
Victory's voice cannot be missed.  
Action breathes where echoes die,  
Unheard heights reach the endless sky.

She sells her body, not her soul,
a barter made, a passing toll.
Her touch is coin, her flesh a trade,
but spirit’s depths remain unswayed.
No gold can purchase what she keeps
a secret fire that never sleeps.
For one true heart she guards the key,
to open truth, untamed, and free.
Like calls to like, a burning brand,
soul finds its soul, hand in hand.

In her face, buds unfold,
A painting new, a story told.
Colours danced, unheard before,
Woke the studio's sleepy core.

Red wings lifted, dreams took flight,
A lost star in the darkest night.
A perfume trapped, a scent untold,
A beauty hidden, growing old.

From what nectar, what divine grace,
Did you conjure such a face?
This rounded mouth, a crimson bloom,
Banishing shadows, chasing gloom.

With drops of blood, a vibrant hue,
Tulips, roses, shining through.
Jujubes sweet, and berries bright,
A dimple winks, defying light.

How long you toiled, with patient hand,
To mold this wonder, understand?
Tired Creator, rest your eye,
These secrets lips will never cry.

Let the illusion hold me fast,
Within the spell her lips have cast.

Soft lines draw me, slow, unchained,
Your hips that call, my hands restrained.
The hollow throat, the ******* that rise,
Full moons that darken eager skies.

Your skin, a canvas, flushed and bare,
I trace its heat through breathless air.
I long to taste, to press, to part,
To lose myself where bodies start.

Your lips, wet fire, parted, near,
Invite my hunger, raw, sincere.
I drown in you, no space, no name,
Two shadows burning into flame.

Wind whispers low, a gentle sigh,
Life's sailed away, I don't know why.

Love's faded hue, a ghost of red,
Dreams still bloom, though hope seems dead.

Closer than close, a hidden grace,
In lonely dark, I find my place.

Night's bitter sting, a cruel deceit,
I walk in quiet, my path to meet.

Wound walks with me, a constant friend,
Pride's strong red will never end.

We were lessons in disguise
you taught me never to trust,
and I taught you that when a feeling deserts the heart,
it never finds its way back.

Not ink on paper, pale and neat,
But air alive with music sweet.
A scent of blooms in sunlit haze,
A floral song for all our days.

A gentle place, a warm embrace,
A haven found in time and space.
A longing felt, a need so deep,
Where weary hearts can softly sleep.

A world unfolds, a vibrant hue,
A magic waits, just for you.
Open your eyes, and let it be,
A wonder whispered, wild and free.

It is the wine of union,
poured by the Hidden Cupbearer.

Two bodies dissolve
like salt in water, like flame in flame.

It is prayer without words,
ecstasy without end, a door where the soul slips out of its cage and falls into the Beloved.

Some call it sin, others call it God but the taste is the same: a burning that makes us whole.

Truth is an arrow
it pierces, yet purifies,
leaving the wound clean,
a scar that remembers,
but does not deceive.

Hypocrisy is an ointment
it soothes, yet poisons,
numbing the pain,
covering rot with fragrance,
a sweetness that kills.

Better the cut of truth
than the kiss of lies,
for only what bleeds
may one day be healed.

She gave me words I could not catch, a tongue of winds and waves, yet to her shape I long to bend, to her silence I am slave.

Celtic is her language,
and mine cannot reach her song. Her face became my tempest, my anger, sharp and strong.

Yet to that face I’d gladly kneel, a pilgrim at her shrine
but first my hands must learn her skin, and make her body mine.

A narrow life I tread,
a path so worn, so thin.
The walls press close ahead,
and tear my soul within.

The sun burns bright outside,
on fields I may not roam.
My heart can scarcely hide
its aching call for home.

A home both wide and free,
where roots take hold, then grow;
where I may simply be,
and watch wild seedlings sow.

O words, you kiss before the lips,
a trembling heat, a slow eclipse.
You press the skin without a hand,
a secret tide, a hidden land.

You slip between the ribs unseen,
where hunger wakes and hearts convene.
More supple than a lover’s hair,
more naked still than bodies bare.

You moan in breath, you sigh in song,
you linger sweet, you burn too long.
A nerve’s caress, a bowstring’s hum,
you strike me deep, I come undone.

O words, unlace me, seam by seam,
make language flesh, make silence dream.
To walk unclothed within your fire,
and taste the ache of full desire.