The mountains are cold and blue now
And the autumn waters have run all day.
By my thatch door, leaning on my staff,
I listen to cicadas in the evening wind.
Sunset lingers at the ferry,
Supper-smoke floats up from the houses.
...Oh, when shall I pledge the great Hermit again
And sing a wild poem at Five Willows?

yesterday
she told me
two of her
favorite things
are coming
and poetry

i'll wrap them
up together
present them
at her altar
with a tongue
simultaneously
tasting limericks
in the air
and slick flesh
as we share

shuddering breaths
thundering in chests
choked with lewd scents
and a sense of urgency
surging back and forth
like waves flirting
with the coast
returning to embrace
no matter how many times
we drive each other
to new heights
of anxiety and ecstasy

a full moon
devising a riptide
******* me out to sea
will i seek peace
or slip beneath
and let the current
carry me

i've tried in vain to fight
the whispered suggestions
layered in alluring messages
but this lurid affection instigates
an aggression you welcome
with innuendos insinuating
intentions of transgression

fear then the shadow express a hand that does not alarm the thought of an elbow?*

i've learned to love,
and it's not worth a poem
let alone a rhyme,
it's not worth a poem should
it rhyme; i've learned to love!
then you will call a tiger entrapped
fear another name a scaled iron capsule.

you're not friends with the insiders who won't let the outsiders in.
You make friends with those who let you in.