On the beach at morning let me meet you there,
With necklaces of seashells and perfume in the air.
And this shall be the music that is played for you and me,
The murmur of the branches and the whisper of the sea.

And as you stand beside me in a linen dress of white,
Sweet shall be the kisses we share for our delight.
Warm will be the summer breeze as on your face it blows,
With bougainvillea in your hair and sand between your toes.

And in the evening we shall build a fire upon the beach,
Where no one can disturb us and the world can never reach.
Then as the night time music softly plays for you and me,
And while we lie beneath the stars beside the glittering sea,
We shall drink of love’s sweet wine as fireflies fill the air,
On the beach at evening, when you meet me there.

I’ll lay here and let the sun make love
Penetrate the shielded part of my being
to bear the brightness of its warmth
right to the base of the unmoved core
and when hysteria sizzles time passes
right to the century of the ancient timeline
where women sadness was denied access
only to be healed by a scientific ***** massage
that gentle movement of finger in the pelvic
to bridge the eruption with the explosive paroxysms
where a woman would relive forgetting
all the unattention behaviour bore by their husband
women wombs would be removed so as not to feel
women ****** desire would be numbed so as not to feel
women would be sent into asylums so as not to feel
They are ****** women confiscicated to a domestic gloom
Let them tend to the men and gain no societical standing
until the doctors got tired of it all, with broken hands
those cramped fingers and supportive bandages
tired of motioning and fumigation of the libia
with sweet smelling and relaxing oily lotions
It was as simple as that...... the change of notions
and the innovation of the handheld vibrators
eradicated hysteria in mere 1952........

Reality strikes like a gong
stories foretold and whispers take turns
such a wild-fire unrestrained
spreading in empty cases
across the unheard sounds
within the pressure of their minds

Sometimes, time just makes it right
and the sound of the rain
slowly sweeps the prejudiced remarks
as their gestures are suffocated
in the remnants of their insinuations
across my inhabited alacrity

In the whispers of my dreams
I felt their creeping shadows
those words filled with judgement
apprehended inside unreformed reasons
across the many eyes that I see
logged with unmovable and manic chaos

It takes tales to run along
past the mast of the unseen flag
the one that comes and flies along
after decades of the lost light
flights and unending ghostly journies
the freedom recovers the day
wrapped up on the winter cruise
bruised by the western winds
on the gravel country lanes
where soil is the only savior
upon amber- brown rusty folds
past reason why the sun rises
beyond the cradle of the waning moon

like all my favorite romances
flirting, no expectations
and reciprocity
you seeking me
as i stumbled onto the path of you
surprised i find myself
in a budding new love affair
with the transcendent