His lips on my lips,
And his hands on my hips,
I'd say it was wrong,
But it feels like it fits,
Like it's right,
It feels nice,
And I enjoy him so much.
And he'd be great as my friend,
But he's so perfect to touch.
And I want him,
I crave him,
I think he is fine.
I would tell him so,
But he's not even mine.

ask the
window
how does
the light
get into
the soul
and
the window
replied
the light
is my
friend
to behold

white ships
crimson sun
gray sky
just begun
black
seabirds
bask in
the salty air
then
plung into
the soup of life
the mirror-ocean

underneath
the
pink-salmon
sky
where are
the clean
guns of war
that cry
and
these guns
shall become
the red roses

We write about love,
And it's ups and downs.
It's all we seem to know.
I know I'm guilty
Of this too,
My poems with surly show.

Forget about love,
Just for a while,
Take your mind off the thought.
Just relax and write,
About something new,
Whether you'd like to or not.

We all need a break,
From the stress of love.
So let's take a short vacation.
Let's wait a bit,
To bring back love,
Hold off it's reincarnation.