Books devour the silence

that weighs down inside

like bright little creatures

they dream and breath

in their cosy little worlds

until each page sizzles

with a human touch

Floating
poetry
is simply
a conversation

and when you said
laughter is like a foreign language
i imagined that i was
teaching you how to
speak it



  My woman is the essence of being, she gathers the ruin of the day to offer moonbeams. Her touch, geared to moods of the moment, oscillates between slap and caress.... is always, though, kind, considerate, caring and layered betwixt lavender levels of love.
Mother of my boys, protector of the clan, matriarch and Monarch. My Janet, the very love of my life.
M.