"Ïn love with the moons"
in to her ear, his inebriated
soft murmur pours,

"Don't tell me that"
she playfully taunts,
"So wicked you are,
moon, one or the other
feels the pinch a bit too much"*

Her disagreement,was meant
to be just the opposite,
the logic of which is clear, only
to lovers, in intimate moments.

Every touch is so orchestrated
to create a provocative effect,
as if there is a secret pact between
the moon and the gentle flow
caressing the mossy river bed, the tide
that  comes in with full force,
and flows out spreading peace.

They both stand under the spell,
full, milky moon and wildly dance,
till the effect of moon induced amour
completely, conclusively subdues.

'I'll never see my brother again'
says the stranger I met online somewhere
And he proceeds to tell me
about the rocket exploding
while his brother tried to rescue
others
but died himself

I can't help but cry
and the stranger gets worried about me
since I'm crying
So I dry my eyes
but I'm wondering
how did he turn so much pain
into kindness?

I know desire
desert of pyre
sister to this fire within
Amidst you and I
love drunken high
a savage gale begins
With angst respire
and lusts arrest
in the eleventh hour
down to rest
To my crippled hand
and weighted tongue
the fray begun
the sting has stung
To thirst and hunger
impassioned tease
encompass me
with an  ardent seize

In all that is left
one seed and sweat
desire shall feed again

I recently agreed to leave my body to science
In return for free cremation & disposal services.
But I insisted on one small qualifier,
A precise stipulation that
The first-year medical student, to which
My cadaver is assigned,
Be female & lovely,
Brilliant & curious,
Fevered & insane,
Seeking a miracle cure for broken hearts.
The damaged among us,
Yearn for a magic elixir,
Some long lost potion,
Arcane & miraculous,
Insightful & perfect in simplicity.
A man who truly loved women,
My last woman dissects me,
I, a species of man she would master.
Cuts out my heart and weighs it,
Divines my psychology from slice of spleen.
Or liver, toxic, cirrhotic,
Surely, random entrails hold some key to me.
I--in all my incandescent incongruity--
Must render up some gender-specific clue,
As to what it is men really want;
Proving, again, the simplest answer is best.