a wild heart can’t be broken,
a tame heart keeps the beat,
a heart like yours is spoken
within the sensual heat.
it’s sensitive and open
but careful and neat;
love in the smallest tokens,
the gestures we repeat.
so take the love that’s woken
into your soul so sweet-
a melody unbroken-
and make your mind’s retreat.

(a metaphor...)

Turning times on who I had to be
singed and fragile
rigid as a leaf
wont to tumble
in the wind;
make a fist
see her crumble,
death of Spring
scattered on the ground.

Winter comes
to soothe the scorching,
freezing scars
til finally
the hottest Summer ever
is remembered not felt.
But a tree like me
abides the changing season
emerges thriving.

how does a woman tell
about awakening?
the burning in her breast
the fire that lights
the embers long smouldering
‘neath years of stress
and fight
and proving;
when finally she esteems herself
enough
and sees the lines and curves
for wisdom
wealth
and birth.
knowing her power, real
allowing her to feel
that freedom waits
where shame has fade away.
she knows the joy
of being
this woman-
having this form,
the center of creation
in her body and her soul
to share or keep-
is like a dance.

dance alone she may
or with you

you’ll know her
by the passion of her touch
her laugh
her joy
her zeal for life
when two become one
if first
she knows herself
and so do you

...I'll write it.
Baby with those blues,
you sing a tune
and smile at me
like miles away we’re going
but not together.
Not for now.
You sail your way
I go mine
“Into the Mystic”
like Morrison.
For your voice and your guitar
I would write another tune,
another lyric sunrise
with you and I held closely
feeling whispers
holding hands
reveling in what we made together.
Ah yes, this serenade I keep.
Your Little gypsy,
My Sailor man,
I’ll build you a port.
I’ll shine my light
and camp a while
if when the fog horn blows
and calls you home
you’ll sail my way.
You play our song,
I'll write it.