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 Sep 2014
Traveler
The weeping shady willow slowly swayed in the soft summer wind
Beneath of which my most vivid memory begins
By the appeal of young lust in the days of our prime
We were drawn together to this moment in time

In a meadow of dandelions our bodies embraced
As she bared her breast my heart went to race
With her eyes of blue so innocent yet wild
It was clear to see she was no longer a child

The curves of her buttocks, the shape of her hips
Were as pleasing to touch as my sister’s silk slips
As if everything I ever wanted was opened to me
To share her **** ****** body, my soul finally free

As I nosed her belly ever so lightly I felt her quiver
Lower and lower I went as it turned to a shiver
So softly I touched as her virginity flowed
I felt as if I could peer into her soul

We shared in sweet passion to a deeper degree
I gently inserted as she pulled back her knees
For a while I managed to stay in control
When she scratched down my back it was time to reload

That day with nature we were naturally exposed
For lovin’ is like music, an art to compose
Traveler Tim
re-to=02-17
Sometimes she visits
leaves mind no traces
sometimes she lingers
for long

Sometimes her spirit
quickly vanishes
sometimes she stays
like a song!

Sometimes she dresses
real too fast
sometimes her clothes
she not finds

Sometimes she presses
for her fill of lust
sometimes she messes
my mind!

Sometimes her eyes
upon mine stay
sometimes her cries
look away

Sometimes her smile
showers like rain
sometimes they rile
cause me pain!

Sometimes her hands
cling to me tight
sometimes like sands
drift away

Sometimes her lands
are hazy and grey
she seems remote
far away!

*Yet she ever makes me feel
she loves me upon her sight
me her heart always wills
all of the day and night!
 Sep 2014
SG Holter
That old man working the fields outside
His old, windworn house.

His granddaughter in her light blue dress
On the swing in the garden,

Cotton flowing behind her like some tail
Tracing a comet of innocence.

Her dog, only twice the size of the
Two squirrels climbing the trunk

Of the tree her swing swings from,
Yapping at her, either for attention

Or in appreciation of the love she
Must, must feel for it.

Two seconds, and they're gone.
Driving on.

My girl inflating her yoga ball
On the living room floor, throwing

Her hair back and smiling, dizzy from
Oxygen spent.

She passes it to me, you do the rest,
But I'm too busy writing about her.

She laughs with her whole self.
Stares back at me when she catches

Me staring first. What? she'll giggle, and
As she stands up and moves towards me,

Still
Staring,

I see that this poem is ending. Two
Seconds.

She's still
Here.
 Sep 2014
SG Holter
She jumps up when my key turns,
Leaving her sofa;
Greeting me like a puppy would
Its owner after

Twenty one dog-days.
I drop my bag and guitar,
Swimming in the scent of
Woman straight

From shower. All is home with
This girl. No palace of gold, no
City in the clouds,
No exotic boat ride on

Green waters, no top of any
Mountain, no bar, casino or
Cabin in the world where I'd
Rather be than here.

After we've sat -nearly on top
Of each other- for a while, she
Asks what I'd like to do now.
Anything that includes my

Girlfriend,
I reply, and she hugs
Me for the seventeenth time in
As many minutes.
Can't stop touching each other.  

Her hair is a unicorn's mane
Against my hands, skin like a baby's
Tummy, hands like those of a young
Mother's upon anything she

Loves; all with the honest affection  
Of one.
I am home, I sigh to myself, and
She looks at me as if thinking

He is home, leaving me so
Happy for us both that I just
Want to lean down over our relationship
And pat it lovingly behind its ear.

— The End —