We had *** yesterday.
Reminded me of the cover
Of a Harlequin Romance.
You, the school librarian in the foreground,
Hair up, glasses on a chain, reading.
Me, the Principal in the background,
Just entering your workroom door.
But, back to reality.
The breeze flipped the curtain corner
Along your bronzed leg, and you looked up and smiled.
Was it something you read, the thought in my head,
Or the breath of joy passing by?
Out through the screen, now open in Spring,
To bring the irises to move and radiate.
A breeze that ruffled and teased.
You directed your eyes, bent to your book,
Pleasured and pleased as me
The lace tail fell back to the sill.
Your leg never moved.

There's more to a woman than her body and curves.  At the core of her brain is a thunderstorm that rains down wisdom, knowledge, and understanding flooding the soul of man with love in it's truest form.
There's more to a woman than her physical beauty.  She's a living breathing ocean with waves of compassion leaping from the depths.  Sweeping man up in her current allowing him to swim in her essences that is woman.

Written by Keith Edward Baucum

Your kind of loving, your kind of feelings
Your way of living, your way of thinking
Your thoughts are everywhere,
Your mind wanderers, your eyes lie

You held on to my every word
hundreds of words we uses daily
Without the physical action,
you say you love me
That doesn’t mean you love me
Because, you think it weaken me

We both use it, we both **** it
Your kind of loving, your kind of feelings
Your way of living, my way of thinking
Is what we reap is what we sow,

You **** your words, I bargain with myself
my words are counterproductive :

My kind of night, my kind of day
Productive, inquisitive and worthy
Your kind of night, unfilled and frustrated

Deep down you love her, she hates the aging you
somehow you still manage to love her
with all her imperfections,

you woke up at dawn, and make her oatmeal
and you serve her  breakfast in bed with a dying rose
How idiotic, how clever, how fatuous



*A good marriage is something you have to work at. It doesn’t drop from heaven

I was changed.
Not changed like the tide,
which always changes back
But changed like an atomic bomb
went off in my body, in my heart.
She was a nuclear reaction
A tiny bit of matter that alters the state of everything she touches.
She was radioactive,
You could feel her coming.
She was a bomb
And I'm a lost atoll,
drifting in the Pacific.
Destroy me in the most
beautiful of explosions.
Split me, subatomically,
and realign me how you wish.
She was science and she was engineering.
She was mankind's best,
doing mankind's worst.
She was detonation,
She was a split second explosion.
Depth charges that awaken,
Super sonic flash wiring,
blinding brilliance.
She was self destructive implosions
Bringing down the walls.
I'm a deserted structure,
waiting to be torn down.

Maybe it's not so bad
If they just break up now
It's been ages and she is unhappy.
Yet somehow I feel like
Her problem isn't her relationship.
She is creating this within herself
God knows I've been there
That the first *** after a long relationship
Really does your body good
But after a few you just need to admit
That it isn't taking you anywhere...

But then she said it...

sometimes you just need to **** each other up until you learn to respect each other and then try again

Yeah. Maybe that's been the point all along.

Aggravating, but without intention
Because
Insecurities are my mind's
Greatest invention.
Alluded to harshly
In regard to "pretention."
L**onely but loved, despite the contention.

...and there it is.
That smile I remember
The way one remembers green
Waves pounding
Wet rock
Outside Warrnambool, Australia.

Friend so beautiful and thoroughly
Good; angelic/demonically opposite.
I must have been equally good
And beautiful in some earlier life;
Surely not in this
One.

So you prove that kharma is real.
I dread to imagine who you were
Last lifetime, having
Blossomed like this in this one.
Diamond laughter.
Eyes that view the world the

Way a child witnesses its first
Circus; clowns, dancing elephants
And all.
Italian queen of Norway.
Born to conquer,  
Knowing nothing but love

And anything else worth
Knowing.
I bow unto no man,
Yet the dusts before your
Feet carry the print of my humble
Forehead.

Every tree you touched recalls.  
Even within the space between
The things you do and
Don't, there are graces and the breaths
Of Gods.
You mirror the unreflectable.

Never stop laughing.
That sound might very well be the
Glue that keeps this dimension
Attached to the heart and
Soul of
Itself.