on the certain special
ways of every single, bright new
day, i who with only
love left here for
you, something special certain, something
new and always here inside
me, my soul now sings from ear to
ear, i feel you holding on so
dear, to every certain special
kiss, our bodies mesh, i hear you
hiss as my mouth makes way
along your perfect, precious body's
song, where choirs anthem lull to
hush, our minds soar swiftly in the
rush of this our union 'neath the stars and
moon, where dancers dance where i feel you
swoon, yet i steady you in my
embrace, kiss, kiss pressing to your
face my lips across your glow-red
cheeks, where trails of tears begin to
streak, wrapped up in the embrace of a
need, your thighs, your sighs, you stoop to
feed upon my life with raging
fire, consumed by lust and love's
desire, trading shares of pounding
heat, when we as lovers, soul mates
meet, making two of what was
one, loving, laughing in the
sun, i plunge inside you with the
waves, your mossy sea-scent hunger
craves, crashing, foamy, bursting
sparks, erupting in the blue-black
dark, screaming out with dire
ecstasy, drives us to our buckling
knees, where leading to the breaking
day, the embers fade
but do not go
away...

As always,
read aloud
and enjoy.




It’s been one month,
30 days since the last time they touched.

I mean sure,
   hands’ve been held, lips’ve been locked, heart beats counted,
   armpits tickled, eyelashes licked,
   backs rubbed, hips hugged
   but

It’s been one month,
30 days since the last time they touched.

720 hours of smiles and telephone conversations and ticket stubs and flowers and mixtapes and tree climbing and
   waiting for the other to finish showering before the night begins and your recite again
   the smiles and telephone conversations and ticket stubs and flowers.

43,200 minutes since that night.
That night that night fell softer than
   eyelids overflowing with sleep.
Finding no full moon to mask,
The thin cloud cover sat in the sky
   like gasps passing lips slightly parted,
   like abandoned similes left suspended midsentence.
That night his house was
   cold as a corpse,
   empty as an elephant skeleton,
But between the two of them
They managed to salvage some warmth.
That night they whispered three words to each other
   through sheets of white linen and teeth.
Three words,
   the culmination of all they’d shared thus far,
Three words
   worth more than any that’d follow

In the one month
30 days
720 hours
43,200 minutes
2,592,000 seconds since the first time they had ***.

Yes it’s been one month,
30 days since the last time they touched.
A full moon since they made love,
******,
Poured the night’s libation into her drawing salty emotion from sincerity’s well giving back blood running blind turning brown against white cover down where three words were loosed from lips translating the *****’ leaning into one learning from the other like lusters slipping in and out of fun like lovers finding oneself in the other.

But time can’t count all the ways things have changed.
And time can’t stand him standing out in the rain.
And he can’t remember which hit him harder,
   her lips curving to form that big L word or
   her hips arching to meet his.
And he could hardly discern pain from pleasure and confusion swam in their hands until paralysis overtook their power to put a stop to it and he finished before she could fish up even a single coo but that didn’t matter because he was in love and loved in return and all the sudden the Beatles are making a whole ******* lot of sense because

It’s been one month,
30 days since the last time they touched,
And he doesn’t give a ****.
He’s just happy to be in love.

It might be the pungent steam from a ***
steeping herbs meant to bend its sippers'
minds to potent effect, or an unanticipated
digestive reckoning from that mawkishly flavored
brand of store-bought paste they pass as butter.

However the dough arises, their collective
recollection of storied events, lengthwise sliced
and ritually rehearsed, hops facilely on the ****
of a bucking and overtly nonsensical wind.

Tea parties with slippery perspectives
have been shown quite clinically to induce
heightened sensitivity in participants,
so it's prudent to set about tidying the facts:

The hatter, it's become clear, shifted one place
too many and disappeared with a trace -- leaving
behind his hat to nobody's great advantage.
Lacking a wearer, the headgear's reputation for
producing madness has rapidly diminished.

The march hare pulls off his change in a very
separate and seasonal way: the bunny's
bottom half somersaults its top to occupy
both his spot and the hatter's vacated seat.

The dormouse upon its latest arousal
is re-visioned to be small, but not much mouse
at all. He's plush with the long-in-the-ear habit
of a pink stuffed rabbit, which the crusading hare
furiously declares is most curious, casting
doubt on the vermin's commitment to "no room."

Alice remains foremost in tact and is given
a bonus of two spare feet complete with slackened
bootstraps. She keeps them and her other luxury
items well-sheltered behind a stout table leg.

The absentee hatter doesn't dare shame her
with a radio-show call-in decrying
the waste. She's generously agreed to
cover the medical expenses from his firm flop.

Nothing left in me is logical.
I have now become dark and all things methodical.
Sadistic in the depths of my very own mind.
Slipping away and trying to find.
Caught between whats never not.
Penetrating tears that I forgot.
Only at first feeling the pain.
Letting it slowly drive me insane.
Needing now only to run....
From all I've said and all I've done
I no now there will be no relief.
As you all stand around me in disbelief.
You give your reasons as I shed mine.....
Seaping in the cold and being unkind!
Disturbing thoughts that will never fade away.
Making me breath though yet another day.
My sacrifice known all to well...........
With my soul on fire,burning here in this hell.

                                                                                         Sasha Sartin

Buddha doubts wisdom.
Buddha loves quiet.
Buddha's very polite.
Buddha radiates x-rays.
Buddha tells truths.
Buddha's ***** blasts.

Waiting. . . Waiting for rain. Waiting for it to wash away the pain. And bring me things to gain. Its like a game. Each time the same. Standing in rain, hiding my tearz, sharing with earth my fears, waiting for the day it all clears. Hiding  it all from my peers. Standing ovation, for this special occasion. Killing the hiding invasion. Knowing that i have a vision, for the unwanted version, calling them the persians. Making them see an illusion. Giving them optical ilusion. So rain do come to stay. For success my way sway. . . And keep the unwanted away. . . .

Granted this name
I wear it proudly on my sleeve
Finding out what exactly it means to be me

May be a little diffident
At a moment, shy and timid
At others, loud and obnoxious
Understanding that you may not understand me

Applying that to my gifts
Working with my hands
Even the smallest doodle
Can be the greatest **creation

Hand-carved wooden frame
Longing for artful beauty
All I see, is you

Sitting in silence.  Trying not to look like I’m watching you work.  Taking in the lines your body makes as you sit in concentration.  The curve of your shoulder, the crook of your neck, the way your hand frames your face as you think.  You are beautiful.  Your furrowed brow and the way your lips remain parted moving ever so slightly as you exhale.  The brightness of your lips beckons a kiss.  Slow, deliberate kisses of longing, kisses full of intent to devour, ignited by the warmth of you.  

Watching in silence  
Waiting for the slightest sign
Caught, and feign denial

You wink that wink that makes me blush, that flushes my body with fire.  You seem tired as you sigh.  You close your eyes and blink away the glare.  That’s my cue.  Impassioned by the mere thought of you, by the memory of the last time or the first time.  

Being the hunted
Actively stalked by the beast
There is no escape