like
a trickle
from mountain rain
it starts ......

my
Desire

a quiver of droplets
converging together
coursing through my body
consuming my thoughts
babbling down my contours
into my valleys
soaking my senses
with lust
growing in need
shuddering across rocks
rapidly gaining in momentum
uncontrolled
in a frenzy of whitewater
finally
reaching the drop
tantalising
at the very brink
pulsing
with waves of pleasure
before plunging
headlong over the edge
in a waterfall of longing
falling into the abyss
of fantasy

flooding
              the river
                        with
                            my song

(C) Pixievic

'Tis true what they say,
May your glass be half-full,
I discovered the same
In a quaint Irish pub.

On leaving that evening
I pulled on my mac,
The wind was wet
And pushing my back.

Pushing's surely
An understatement,
It drove so hard
My face met the pavement.
And I could hear Molly singing:
And the road rose up to meet me.

There was no sun
To blame for my face,
The burn on my skin
Was a shameless disgrace.

The road home that night
Was all downhill,
But with hard rain that night
I was trudging uphill.

There's plenty
Of work
For this man's hands,
For the luck of the Irish
Is a tourism scam.

As for being in heaven
A half hour ahead
Of Ole Lucifer knowing
That I'm ten minutes dead;
I'm sure he'll be keening
At the foot of my bed.

Dad always said
Being Irish was grand,
If you're in North America
And not Ireland.

Getting off the plane my bags nearly dragging the ground just like my shoulders.  I'm not looking for it.  Cuz "it" was left behind with the one I thought loved me.  Now my only welcome home comes from the pelting rain hitting my face as terminal doors swing open to my reality.  Don't care that I'm soaked to the bone, taxis laugh me by and screaming siren slows its tone with the dying rhythm of precious cargoes heartbeat not unlike my own.

they    were      not      
     someone      you  
could        lust    over,  
they    were     fey,      
blood       not    running
   the     usual     way,  
they     made     me      
   dream    of    streams  
touched    by  moon
beams,    ice     cold    
  fields  at       dawn,      
every     season    I      
have    ever      known
breathing      within
    their     bones;    
dark      woods      were  
organs   once     stood;    
    each      touch    a    
   crunch      underfoot      
revealing   another        
layer  so       deep,      you    
doubt   you     will 
   ever      reach     the    
heart       of      its    beat.