Maybe if I were a
hummingbird. Wine-throated
in Guatemala, would that be
far enough away, or is it such
a romantic notion to want to
to be fast enough to escape but
beautiful enough to be noticed

Have you ever found yourself  quivering
outside of lines
stained
by what you thought was a love story?
Wondering
if you will be swallowed whole
by the window you sit and stare out,
in love's well meaning glory.

Beneath passion  blowing through the door
visiting your mind
like those little things
filled with a warmth
you have wanted
for so long.
Often, you find life
is at its happiest inside your dreams,
where nothing's wrong.

Sometimes in the middle of the night  
you want to be
a never-ending flow of love
smiling at the hands
on the Clock of Emptiness,
stuck in place.  
However, time melts into years
until starlight becomes well versed
at hiding the shadow of tears
on your face.

Words hang from twisted emotions like blossoms from a garland,
Dropping, then gathered into sentences to be delivered as expressions.

Discussed and considered, feelings form, fear or confusion arises.
Happiness, delightful excitement is offered.

To be taken and sensed, or dismissed and forgotten there's always the choice between trusting or suspicion.

Belief is difficult when experiences are dampened with pain and hurt, not fulfilling.
A chance for happiness perhaps, amongst the chaos that is reality.

Respite from the toughness, see the lightness offered through kindness and love.
Non judgemental consideration and beauty, helps the pain and emotional restriction.

To give is wonderful, to be able to accept is incredible.

Too many words have been spoken in early excitement, from the heart rises love, desire and need.

The head overflows, logic disappears to be replaced with more of the same, belief forming.

The sense of being, confused  by the strength of the connection and depth of feeling.

Joined in natures embrace and pleasuring touch, joy, happiness and deep, deep emotion intermingle

Searching for understanding, a meaning, is there one or is this just how it is for now?

In the muddle and the mess that is my mind
I could do with some perspective
Someone else's perception
of this one-sided, two way conversation
that's been going on for hours
days
years
I can not be objective
about the very personal subject of
Me.

My life is clearly complicated
I am my self and all the rest of me
and we are a confused and cross-wired bunch

The answers lie inside
I try to dig them out
but when it comes right down to it
I lose the nerve
the will
the reason and I retreat
run back
to on-the-surface sanity
so as far as you can see, I'm happy
look at me!
I smile in all your snaps and photographs
and sometimes the twinkle is sincere
but what we have here
is a well-practised masking of emotion
Make me look more like the me I
imagine myself to be
so that, by the time I get there,
I can provide the fools with proof
that I was never afraid
never ashamed
never appalled or unsure or unsettled
never shattered
or shocked
never wrong, all right;
every night was my party -
and every place was my home.

Inspired by a vintage ****** postcard from the 1920s - 30s:

The Muse sits resplendent
caressed in sepia tones and pastel cream
gilded with the glaze of a bygone era
her silk Charleston negligee
worn proud like a vintage ornament
perched on an aesthetically pleasing
shapely pert insolent *****
blossomed with tiny beads of sweat
the heat of such anticipation
entices the pearls of the ******
to pamper and pleasure their perversions

etched as if in a radiance of candlelight
the flickering limbs pulse their bloom
nimble fingers of dancing shadows
cupping the feline curves of a chaise longue
the purposefully out of place set piece
the fantasy of a gentleman's reading room
caked in casked sherry
and Nat Sherman cigar infused aromas

her elegant pose sumptuous reclining
elbow length satin gloves
sensually wrapped in wanton desire
******* clasp a Sorbranie Black Russian
smoked like a sultry gypsy
with a fervent demeanour
from a silver opera cigarette holder
beckoning with the cats eyes of mischief
over Pinced nez eyeglasses
with a fascination imbibed
in the praxis of passion

the peach skin of refulgent youth
directs the viewer downwards, slowly
survey each contour of olive skin
and stroke every hidden cleft of fabric
to glimpse the nubile thighs of grace
leading the eye to the arch of an ankle
slipped like a fitted glove
nestled in the cleavage of her calf
and the chastity of future wonderment

the forgotten photograph
captures a period in time
the memories of the muse
now in motionless existence
a demure allure forever frozen
once lost, but now
never forgotten

little shift of shadow play
sometimes red, sometimes green
no its not color
this is the light

the darkness fade
whenever it comes
brings happiness in life

all of this only teaches
after
if i come back

when you have not any recourse
by holding our hands
shows the way
the light

all wake up in the rapture
fill many color
learn to live
the light