Bamboo groves sing the symphony of winds
in their crackling I hear my heart
on the red lone summer road.

The village woman passes with her cow
she has no time for poetry
yet her radiance fills me to beg life
more..

O Death be a while away
I've taken root on this land.

Got to move on
To another town
And another dawn
Where time delays to show
The regularity ahead
And thoughts crave to pitch
Deep within my mind
The freshness of search.
And my haunted heart
The outlaw
Induced to finesse
And seize the heart of day
Prepares itself
As though unfamiliar.

The years add up
But you never truly forget  
Just cover it up
with leaves, some brush
an old sheet or blanket
A drive
a new route around
Sometimes an old box in a closet
or under a bed work fine
to hide the time

until the winds of seasons change
bare it all again

..and there's never any tissues around

She was a plague of desire
a dance of syllables
just out of the reach of his tongue
a name that was a prayer
written on the skin of his heart

a language he couldn’t speak
except when  lost in the trance
of a dream boiling over
with the lust running mad in his blood

a fever burning inside his bones
to feel her tremble against his lips
and wandering fingertips
that travel the forbidden paths
along her spines skin of pleasure

the quite hush of gods making flesh
to be blessed with the secrets
of honey and blood
to be poured over
and flow from the pulse
and the rhythm
of the lost art of making love
while dancing in beds
made out of the shadows of sin

a quite lullaby roaring
from under his pillow
that made his ears desperate
with longing to hear
the songs that play
from within the cage of her ribs

a place of hunger
that could only be satisfied
when left with wanting more
of the blood and the flesh
and the body of her rapture
when lost in the euphoria
of finding love under blankets
woven from lust
and where no pleasure
is stained with the guilt
or definition of sin