I watch her apply creams and lotions to her face through the steamed glass of the shower door before lathering, rinsing off and stepping out.

she greets me at the bathmat with a towel,
then towels me off and flashes me the most
beautiful smile I’ve ever seen. I smile back,
feeling more understood and less misconstrued as she pats and wipes the beads of water away.

it’s moments like these that can make a man
crumble into submission, capturing the quick
glimpses of the joy and the gentle peace from
another beautiful soul when there’s so much
terror, fame & corruption reigning down in
this misbegotten world.

we stand there facing one another

we don’t have to be anybody
we don’t have to be anyplace
we don’t have to worry about anything
we can just simply enjoy each other’s company

looking deep into the eyes
she caresses my beard
she understands me
she takes care of me

& it’s nice to be taken of
especially after a lifetime
of taking care of yourself

I stand there feeling the good times pass
as she dries my ***** with this
lucratively warm towel.

When moons and co-ordination fakes
a cookie that pretends to have been baked
So cold is a lake in the summertime
Why so warm in the Winter-land?
I do not know.
All I know is when you swim
in such a snuggly of an ocean,
you'll trust the sting-rays,
until they'll zap you shockingly.

What's pretentiously
is often socio-pathic.

What began is a life-time ago,
and when we die, it all re-starts,
and I bet this is what you didn't know.

We worry about this current life,
not knowing we live thousands
This one has no children or wife
& yet it serves no brevity

What stains and what is beautiful,
Its one we live or the other,
I'm either or so in love in full
I'm either your sister or your brother
and yet I'm ugly or eyes upon.
and the cars will pay their toll.

No point in suiciding,
it doesn't even matter,
Your next life,
may be so wonderful,
or it could be worse.
Best to live with regrets
and make the most of it.

You lit me up when dried like sardines
and I forgot and frogger completely
There's this ocean where I forget,
a beaming and the cruelty,
And a smashing of my mind,
against sadistic of the rocks.
I bled to death and became alive.

What's specific,
and anachronistic
doesn't belong,
in my song,
though the influence
is so, so long.

Wisdom is our aged,
until the brains smack,
and becomes so soft,
like junkies in the cold
scoring with no luck.

There's this street,
that still be-littles,
A little sweet corner
once of child-hood feat,
and the visions,
scatters little marbles
and waffles chocolatey
contrasts & hide illusions.

You can put my scars in boxes,
but in moves this family
and of course their children
will open me up like toys,
undiscovered like tombs,
in dusty old rooms.

Prettily are the saintly,
innocent to the history
of such an old mansion,
red with such suspicion.

Demons are not in hi-ways,
they belong in the temples
of pre-existing and our days
Only God helps them trembling.

Too many wraiths exist,
in such historic buildings,
They need to be bull-dozed
not kept like a museum.

What's been, is a shadow display,
that can curse or be exotic of play,
and wishes are often in the moon-shine,
and believing in rushes of the blind,
thinking a morning, can open eyes.

The dream of the incestualized,
a child once vividly opening presents,
And is that the wish of the memory,
terrible act of one of his parents?
Or the dying one-day blooming Xmas.
No-one knows what I'm on about here.

And the flares in his eyes were shining
like the stars above his bedroom ceiling.

And a broth to a sloth comes a modern,
and a finger snaps and there's no sudden,
Just looks at you coldly, and so off
and he won't mind a warm/cold coffin.

They don't exist until they do.
There was the haunted mirror
of my lady who I loved,
and we shared a bed,
in this gothic old house.

I watched her comb her hair
and move her silkily soft arms.
But the demon on the other side,
could not mimic the movements,
of my angel but tried in vain.

It was a pathetic attempt
to claim her soul,
and we bailed out of there
and smashed the glass
into a thousand little shards.

What's written,
isn't smitten,
with love as
a timely bus,
and the lust,
is sitting,
on an eye,
of denial,
like a flannel,
in the bath-room.

What's my beef,
its the golden reef,
of all this pretending
how does it help the kids?
Their so and of Loneliness,
"Hey, you're one tough kid."

It doesn't pass the swings,
wishing for a friendly voice,
but the nearby trains
and the subtle of the rain,
Its denial and impressionist
and yet she is your exploitative

Undeniably, she stands and falls,
like a crumbling of no tall,
and none of this is sincerely
like a fake of considering them.

What once stood,
is killing them.
And the media
is killing them,
The internet
Is killing them
Pretenders
are killing them.

I stand before the wolves and the creeps
and I declare myself unable to weep,
No, I won't be a victim and exploitative
and swaying as storms amongst the fleet.

I can make just one promise,
I'll never feel so guilty,
for others' trespassing sins
I can only swear on this,
but ****** are the children,
that need our protection.
History of abuse of this,
cannot excuse repeatedly
or even for one second.