Emotions cascade down my waterproof back,
memories, shivering from the coldness I always attract.
As fall butterflies my words turn to gold and fly away.

Raw lust on a platter,
I'm giddier than the Mad Hatter
Where lies the latter, in a secret place.

The nectar of your silky perfume up my nose rushes,
Saturating my attention like an artist's brushes.

Warming space with the radiating bloom of your smile,
A presence felt in every dimension, by a mile,

So refreshing this cultivated side to you,
These, all your colours the pastels and hues

Learning the sides to you, petals of velvet words,
Unravel my thoughts to peel away the curds.

So sweet so delectably profound
My rehearsed lines go to ground , to ground .........

She smiles
Like the sun kissed flowers
Staring up at the sky
On a field of never-ending blossoms in the summer’s light

But don’t be fooled
There’s a tempest brewing
The cumulonimbus clouds murk over her inner world
So deep into her immaculate soul it’s pursuing

She loves
Like the moon’s devotion
To the vault of heaven
On a glorious gloom

But don’t be fooled
Her darkness is the asphalt
On the terra firma
When the vale is most coruscating

She exposes
Her finest face
Like an overawed beau on the first night
Of *******

But don’t be fooled
Her behemoth lies slightly waken
In the depths of her muddled consciousness
Like a war solider awaiting command

She is two sides
Of the same coin
Tossing for heads or tails
Don’t be fooled


sa
13.09.18

The Ghost I loved but not to be.
Who gave her heart but not to me.

The pieces of my memory lost .
To get them back but what the cost?

One wish of the hands that hold all fate,
one wish before the pearly gates.

That I once more lay my head on her breast.  
And hear the rhythm of her chest.

I followed you to lay on Bajan sand.
We kissed again and again under the dying sun.

Our seeds of passion were soaked in ***
So hastily devoured over our Boardwalk Dim Sum

Anyone there write poems anymore.
Is picking up a pen a thing of lore?
Are there star accountants counting at night?
Dictating under a moon too bright.

Hands hovering  under a dim light,
Pencils swaying like a rod for a bite.
No audience pulling on your string of words with polite
No mountain of phrases on landscape of white


I know these thoughts a bit,
my own private hell.
But more horrifying than this
Is no ink in the well