What if everything
Were revealed: about my whereabouts
Especially last night:
Was I somnambulism?
It time to get myself together,
I was all over the place
I have to channel my energies into something useful
I have to stay soulful
I have to stay focus
I am not a night walker.
But a vampire.

Silence is a sound
Silence is a text message
With just a smiley
Knowingly he cares
Silence is an image of the meadow
Waiting for the natural sound of the wind

Silence is reaching the top of the mountain
you look around in slow motion and said I did it
God **** it I did it!
Silence is just golden,
Silence is a sound

What is poetry? Is it a uniform thing?
Or a kaleidoscope dream images
Of a one- man team
a dimension of systematic thinking
His metaphors, his musical mode or
his original mistakably literal meanings

If I came to you and say
I see the love in your baby blue eyes
It reminds me of that sunny day.
When the clouds was still and I fire up my libido
Did I really fire up my libido or was the love in your eyes really blue
Even as you said to me
“I am going to **** you tonight with my loving
Was that nonliteral
Or one of your nonsensical fuss
Poetry is your own lovely way of
Woven out your most inner thoughts

The End of Desire
It over it far from over
Satisfaction is not the end of desire
however,
Sunday night ***
Can leave you speechless
When he said
“sorry honey"
I have a headache
What a way to **** the moment
Men!

I love the way you said
“Yes darling, my honey
It makes me feel good inside
your touch
that look in your eyes
became an instant hallmark memory
From someone who really cares

How many times have I brought to the table
My Island flavors?
How many times have you read
my inner thoughts:
how many times will I share them again and again

It all began in 2004 from the moment I walked in
You wasn’t there and I didn’t really care
You ***** more than a female
you took on a huge responsibility
so you went out and brought the  singular noun, pronouns
adjectives,  plural verbs, preposition and the infinitives

For a New York minute you should have
brought Heather Taffet  the grave digger for security measures
My poesy is my poesy
The sun always seems to be a symbol of life.
and life is worth living.