10  words.

Dull,dank, and  wet.
  Septembers  now  arrived.
In  full  force.

Keith  Wilson.  Windermere.  UK  2017.

from      time        to      time
there is     a romance      of being       alone
   the     imaginations       she  powdered
                                 generously    upon the   colorless  reality.
      metaphors   that  she sews    upon the   sleeves
                         of     melancholy.
her girlfriends   and she    roamed
                 the    ups  and     downs of the  earth,
while their        mothers screamed
                                    for   them      to be ladylike.
     saturday afternoons,
they   procrastinated    upon   pastries and     honey
                 crystallized           fairy      tales
courteous     animals
                                 riding on the      coattail of      dreams
      a lighthearted                feeling    others tried to      snooze.

they    observe things         through glitters    of their vapor.
    they   dote on the    humor of ice    creams
                       and sunlight       of   scarlet pink.
    as we    laugh    with charm,
                                            what a    way   with words,
                 a   lopsided    smile,
a      head    of   curls,
                                        a    flock     of  girls.

Don't go far off, not even for a day
Don't go far off, not even for a day,
Because I don't know how to say it - a day is long
And I will be waiting for you, as in
An empty station when the trains are
Parked off somewhere else, asleep.

Don't leave me, even for an hour, because then
The little drops of anguish will all run together,
The smoke that roams looking for a home will drift
Into me, choking my lost heart.

Oh, may your silhouette never dissolve
On the beach, may your eyelids never flutter
Into the empty distance. Don't LEAVE me for
A second, my dearest, because in that moment you'll
Have gone so far I'll wander mazily
Over all the earth, asking, will you
Come back? Will you leave me here, dying?

The core of  within and without
Where sums of all rule the trades
Pressing each of the passing wind
To sounds of a prolific harmony

My heart rises at the melody switch
Where after a flutter, the matter fix
reaching to restore the fueled crux
To forms of an ecstatic tuned melody

The core of within and without
Where all the unknowns are unsung
Panting on motorized highways
To mouths of folded tale and tragedy

My heart still praises in your anchor
Where safety sails to the depths
Reaching the cliffs on the coral bay
To trenches as a calm whisper to an ally

would you like to take a walk
through my gardens now with me?
with the loveliest of flower
and the tiniest of pea?

yes?
good,
well come along my darling
now come along it's free,
an let's go to the gardens
to see what we can see

well,
I planted here some garlic
from the garlic bulbs I had
an the bok choy
well it bolted
and I lost it
that's too bad
but still
it had some flowers
though,
so really not so sad,

sigh,
smile now, ; )

see the tomatoes look so happy
lots to can, to cook an share
the cucumbers are plenty
see those guys are everywhere,

those here are purple eggplant
with soft delicate new flowers,
an the weather has been perfect
just so hot with scattered showers

the chocolate mint like poetry
WiLd and prolific
dead head all the marigolds
an boy they grow terrific,

in lovely burning oranges
and yellows
you can eat,
marigolds - nasturtiums
are really such a treat
and eating from my garden
well really can't be beat,

the kale is getting big,
and my peppers hot an mild
the pumpkins taking over
like an ivy envy wild

cosmos and green beans
were started from a seed,
radishes are too,
look-
I snuck 'em in between,

basil and cilantro
rosemary and sage,
I could go on and on
and write another page

but really you should visit
and come to see it now
but thanks for reading this
though vicarious somehow

I'm still happy for to share
my life
and love today
I hope you know I care
an are soon
here on your way
even in grey skies
for the growing I will pray,

and I will be here waiting
tending gardens
come what may.

Ma Cherie © 2017

applying his
              lingual buds
   to the smooth
lush of her
thighs she rippled
         as a lava lake,
          no stone skipped            
                          just
melting milk, lapped up
in hungry pulses
cream of silk
   pounding thunder
        in consonants of
             taut skin drum
                nuances in vowels
         uttered in
animal dissonance
his bristled breath
all over her
              fingers
salivary intentions
over rim of lip
feeding the emptiness,
a holy vessel
more ancient than
        before time
              now ready
              to be filled by the
           essence of feminine
pineapple juice drizzling
firebud glistening
in fuchsia exposure
open gateway
      to divine outpour
a sacrificial altar
of unmasked psyche
completely stripped of
                     any pellicle
his palms firmly
planted in hot muscle
thumbs parting
            glory's hole
deer at the saltlick
lost in the velvet
just pour it in
thick molasses
not stifling,
only honeyed bark
multi-hued like
      eucalyptus deglupta
in buttery tips
dripping love,
all over her lips
and just like that, in
slick-painted dabs
of their own
acrylic-drip art
just like that
in the wild
            and thick
explodes the ache
of her
ripped
         apart
   heart

I had coffee at my lips
And good intentions with you

You had passion as fingertips
And a slow withering heart

I'm falling in love with you
Life is setting the punchline