My hunger for you never wanes
your, smell, touch, look send me aflame
my lips bruised after being crushed by yours
my thirst quenched by drinking you in,
my need as robust as your thrusts,
my cravings, like a ****** in need of a fix.
Immersed in you, luxuriating in you,
knowing you, has starved and saved
my soul.
Amongst the smell of lust and lechery
Dante watches, he watches my soul.
Purgatorio, penitent I walk within flames to purge myself of lustful thoughts and feelings.
Dante's Inferno. Souls of the sin of lust are blown about in restless hurricane winds, I feel the wind at my back. Howling.
A symbol of my own lack of self-control to my lustful passions
in this my earthly life.
Just be with me when we are judged, together we can prove our
Love

It's been a year of heroes.
I've met so many of them
Since January.  

Ed Kowalczyk, Eric Church...
And Neil Gaiman today.
They were

All the same comforting
Base of blood and bones as
The rest of us.

I am writing this as
I stand -beer in hand- watching
Neil Gaiman being

Interviewed on stage in
Oslo. He has more to say
Than many, to poets

And those living lives; others.
"Writing is like composting.  
You have an idea. You

Leave it to rot... and
Things will grow
From it."

You came into my life
When all was lost
There was no moon,
the stars had died
and all around was darkness.

I had lost my heart, my soul
and in the black, lost my way
I couldn't see the road before me
I couldn't go, I couldn't stay


Then out of nowhere right before me
stood an Angel all aglow
Lighting the scary darkened path
and showing me the way to go

The stars came back, Heaven was lit
Behind me the moon began to rise
The path grew brighter and I could see
The Angel had opened my closed eyes

I don't know when that Angel left me
for she left as quickly as she came
but she led me from that forsaken path
and I knew my life would never be the same!

I would not shed a tear
I would ****** myself

Upwards
And fly

Into clearest of skies
Where no worries arise
Because that's what it

Feels like
To die.

isn't only in the number
of likes and reads and
comments obtained,
but also in it own self.

The bird sings, not for an audience, but to satisfy its happy soul.*~ Amitav

and the page turns,
memories sepia, brown
and frosted with time
come to light.
faint, murmuring words,
swim at the back of my mind.

summer days....spent in splendour.
balmy nights and mosquito nets.
rockpools little crab kingdoms, the smell of coconut oil and arms macadamia nut brown..

and again the page turns
the boys in rugby kit
me standing off to one side
head in a book...
one girl among too many older brothers
always a tagalong in handmedowns and enid blyton's famous five..

and again the page turns...
christmss hats and presents
cold chicken,salads and little baby prawns....sherry trifle
and poppajack snoring, beer still in hand...

and the page turns and turns
little windows into former lives......sometimes nostalgia
and sometimes.... just a peeping tom..