my rough and tattered edges like sea glass
smoothly rounded by her passions
relentlessly polished by intimate contact
with her welling water and earthy grit

the reality of her excites me
humbling any romantic doubt
dispelling any fantasy skepticism
instilling a will for the moment

she is energy in pure spherical form
encircling this scattered life
she holds for me a sense of place
a bookmark to poetic existence

just as bands bind magic barrel staves
as rainbows secretly circle underground
as concentric rings indicate growth
love will revolve even as it expands

There it is again
My rampant, purple verse
Just because she dropped
A silken, wanton stanza

Like a maiden would
A handkerchief
At a picnic
Or a ball

No no I say
The others are watching still
And her urgent
breathless whisper

No it’s OK, they’re all asleep
Just quietly
But watch the door

And so we madly
Claw the buttons
Reckless
Off each other’s prose

Touching across
The half-lit void
Of six thousand kilobytes

Or as many black miles
of Atlantic waves
Cresting over
The bones of lovers lost

And as we at last
Lay sweating there,
Spent and lost
and found

A lock of her hair
Loosed by our play
Tumbles suddenly down

To touch the curve
Of her smile

Oh my.

I must know...

the smell of your blowing hair
   in the leaf-strewn autumn wind

the touch of your hand on my chest
   closely held in a sleepy winter bed

the sight of your eyes lit with wonder
   for the beauty of spring's first flowers

the sound of your voice calling my name
   through a window from a summer garden

...and as the cycle renews...

the taste of your fertility
   under the cover of a harvest moon

...there simply aren't enough seasons
to gain a complete sense of all that you are

she opens herself to the horizon
holding desire heavily in her breath
so crushing and withheld
the quiet rush of blood
bleaching his embrace
words withdraw in their matrix
only the form of his lips in her smile
and his walk in her feet
and making love so light
when the truth is androgyne

Epiphany, I wouldn't call it that
An almost royal word
Too complex, by far
It's not that it's simple
Just it doesn't fit

We, us, our are better
It's not about me
So those words
Are a better fit
Like Her body
Laying, molded
Against mine

Then again, it's how I feel
The kaiy between us
Comfortable enjoyment
Of Her soft skin, like petals
Against mine, souls entwined

It's the feeling of falling
In love, being two and then One
But the very moment you know
Where one moment it's about
You and me, then in reaching
Comforting, holding You
Putting myself aside

Forgetting everything about me
All the pain, the remorse and hurt
That was caused and giving Her
The Being that She needs right then
When her need means more

Stepping out of one's self
To become more, a rebirth
A hero's moment, all or nothing
Not crafted; only an urge
And acting on it; instinct
Realizing that everything you are
Revolves around Her

And She accepts the embrace
She allows the healing to begin
Letting it all go, taking off the mask
For just a moment; letting you
Be the Man you are

No, never an epiphany
That word is too complex
Too simple to describe
A metamorphosis of self
The unconditional love
That'll let a Man cry against
Her shoulder every night
And be what She needs

It's no accident of fate
A surrender of self
Recognizing beauty
For only itself
And falling in Love

It is in the night
That your sobs turn into
Moans,
Where pain gives way to
Pleasure,
As our bodies intertwine
To find the love
That our hearts
And minds
Lost.

There's a horse who is primed for battle. She's been broken and saddled, muscles hard and keen, her frame is lean, she's got all the necessary means to carry destruction into the heart of the fray.

But. She's afraid. She dreads the day.

There's a child who is primed in playground. She's been beaten and shoved down, she's been left to bleed, the teachers are too late to intervene. And she waits for the day for them all to pay.

But she's afraid. How couldn't she be?

There's a leader who is primed in sovereignty. She's been brought up high society with a sharpened gleam, smart and mean, quietly she gathers steam. With the tools to rule, she waits for the day to carry the horse to heart of the fray, to make them pay, to make them all pay.

But she knows the game, knows how to wait.

And still the world will twirl in its hate.
Until it needs a leader who's great.

She'll rise like the cream to the top of the pack, and pick up the slack, and possess what they lack.

And finally grasp the ultimate power!

To rule. To instruct. To provide the anchor for the ones who were broken and beaten, afraid.

And she'll heal their wounds, for she knows their pain.

Sometimes, I believe you were conceived in the womb of *Aphrodite
the subtle migrations of your mouth and tongue
manipulating my body in ways
that would make a courtesan blush

let me worship at the altar between your thighs

Sometimes, I think you are a descendant of Moses
your fingertips guiding me into warm places
your thighs and valleys so divine
I can't help but get lost in them

your lips and hidden places always causing exodus

Sometimes, I imagine you as a rose
your petals opening gracefully for select eyes
beautiful, in your surrender
your thorns, a barrier to most, yet

I would brave them, just to drink the dew from between your buds

Sometimes, I just need to know that you're mine
nothing more & nothing less than what  **you are

I'm a bloke in a suit on a train to last year's realized dreams no more content to arrive at tomorrow than yesterday.

My mind chalk full of plans and strategies for a better me because Michael taught in an unforgettable hymn that the path to world change begins with a mirror.

Yet it is not peace or culture and religious tolerance that bubbles through the frothy brim of my troubling mind but you.

I love you woman.

What worth this life and it's lofty goals full of meaning and well being where only careful deliberation will carry us from misstep and disaster if we do not have each other to share in the glory and the gore.

while falling asleep inside you
i came again. i arrived sterling in slumber
and silver in solace.
i was hereafter and unburdened.
nearer the furnace of lost moons
and more beautiful
than love's fool.

With
passion pray. With
passion work. With passion make love.

With passion eat and drink and dance and play.

Why look like a dead fish
in this ocean
of
God?

My dissatisfaction does not come from you,
It is not a reaction to your moods or your sometimes bleak outlook,
Nor your terrible self-imaging.

I remember laughing late into the night.
I recall with clarity falling in love with a woman who loved the world we found ourselves in and we laughed till we cried drunk on life and each other.

I sometimes wonder where that woman went.

At times I believe you when you say you whither within a relationship.
At times I believe that is part of my curse.

I do not choose a woman who is content to bake cookies and clean the house,
Though you do those things,
I chose you in your glory with all your lust and love and life.

Yours is a heart meant for freedom and no matter how loosely connected we are I am still the tether to which you are leashed,
And you are chaffing.

I do not want to let you go,
Nor have you asked to,
Yet what are we to do when the life you once celebrated is now oppressed from the summer heat?
I cannot offer shade cool enough to calm the fire smouldering inside of your breast.

Thus my dissatisfaction does not come from you,
Rather my bleak understanding of our future,
One I hope you know that I will do everything I can to discard.

I would have you happy and content.
I would have me the same.