With stolen moments, I could get lost in you,
with the ease of walking into a silent room.
Everything in the world fading away,
when I feel your lips on mine and what it conveys.
A kiss, a smile, your touch on my face
a treasured sight, this secret place,
where we connect and share our art,
tenderly sharing bleeding hearts.

How strange, the pull that tugs my heart, toward a distant sea.

How haunting are the sound of sea gulls crying eerily.

The allegory still remains, of timeless waves in life

Turning rock to shifting sands, the sea winds, like a knife.

And yet, amidst the turbulence, serenity and love

The struggle of the sea and shore, that fits so like a glove.

The music breaks my heart in two, this ballad by the bay.

And I shall hold it in my soul, this song we used to play.

I still can hear the rollers as they broke upon the beach.

And even though I’ve gone back home, my memory, they reach.

Rise and shine, first thing in the morning walking past the mirror.
Avoiding its reflection, not wanting to see its reflective picture.
Kneeling in the shower, hands pressed tightly to her ribs.  
Who is this frightened child?  Does she even exist?  
She took a step back from the world, no one knew she was alive.  
Now she’s grasping at her life, just trying to survive.
A tainted childhood in shame now fragile bones from self abuse,
don’t blame her though, she was only a child confused.  
How did this happen?  When did this begin?  
She seemed so happy, or was that all pretend?  
She had started at 130, or so,
but felt as if she had lost control.
What happened to this dear sweet innocent child?  
Her idea of beauty and perfection had driven her wild.
Minus 25 later she was so close.  
Almost 100 without any clothes.  
No one would touch her, they thought she would break.  
She told herself she was content with that trade.
I was 18.
~
I’m much better now in my adult discipline
eating healthy 3 meals a day purely for consumption.  
Yesterday, I skipped dinner in lieu of drinking wine.
Today at noon, hovering over my breakfast, I resign
Some days I struggle. Some days I am not fine.
But ...
I will eat my breakfast, lunch and dinner.
And paint my pretty pictures.

"The Kiss" in marble
of Rodin's work
embraces art with passion.
Ovid wrote of kisses
back when "amor"
was in fashion.
To capture
such a moment
in marble or in verse,
is beautiful
but can't refine
the taste
when lips immerse.
In meditation,
I close my eyes
on kisses
I remember.
of hot August nights
in sultry heat
or amid a fireplace
in December...

Incendiary passion
that ignites an ember's flame
Gone but not forgotten
but t'is really not the same.
I long for lips that hunger
and the unrequited bliss
The torch that sets the heart afire:
the unexpected kiss.

priceless diamond drops
the pavement of broken dreams
streaming down my cheeks