I fear the way you love me:
That tender-touching kiss
Seducing me to nightly
Sink deep in your abyss.

Those smooth caresses take me
To places that I dread,
Your cunning fingers rouse me
To plan such lies ahead.

But while we writhe and tumble
In lust's hypnotic hold,
I fear the final stumble
That will see the truth unfold.

You are all I need,
when you look at me,  I am invincible.  
Hold me closer,
no need to chase,
more than once you have loved me
under the skies of yourself.

A mere whim would never
change my mind
but you wake me up
when your face
searches for release
in my eyes.

You are to the whole of my being
every moment I place
as precious
with the ink of my pen.  

I cannot let a single day go by
without touching the sands
we call ours
when they appear on the shores
of every part of me.  

You are all I need,
when you look at me, I am invincible.  
Hold me closer, your arms whisper
the rhythm of me.  

No need to chase, come and hold me
under the skies of yourself.
I want to linger here
Enclosed
in the love we make.

When I first sold myself there were
black cottons, brass buttons, iron crosses, steel machines
All the marks of war
All that searing heat
With all that pretty malice
Spilling Paris in the street
‘Twenty marks’ I called
‘Twenty marks’
That was 1943
And Piaf was doing well

Nurse, do you know what it is like:
To have a man inside of you
that you could never love?

There was, once upon a time, a pretty little ****
black cottons, brass buttons, iron crosses, steel machines
Lying on my floor
And Maman was starving, and my sister, too
Dignity wasn’t half the tax it seemed before
He gave me a baby, and a disease,
That was 1944:
Piaf was quite successful, then

Doctor, can you fathom:
Having sores all over you?
Yes, down there, and
all up and down your thighs, your body burns.
Can you feel that?

Then, the Germans left, and the Allies came, all
black cottons, brass buttons, iron crosses, steel machines
All of that decor
Fleeing, running out
On the French horizon
Retreat
The Allies were the same
‘Three dollars’ I called
‘Three dollars’
That was 1945:
Piaf was languishing
Paris had died

Jacques, my dear:
Those were our times
smoky cabarets, sculptured croons, fine wines
your rifle on your back could wind my morning with worry
and with my scourges, you took me all the same
but what I remember is:
black cottons, brass buttons, iron crosses, steel machines
then:

nothing

“Monsieur Boursin - she has passed.”

He sobs,
it sounds like
war.

About it, you made the right choice it
All worked out in the end there were
Parades and balloons and you earned a
Trophy
Earned, not received

And they never pop, never dull
Limp with fractured wrists and arms and
Popcorn full to the threatening point of
Bursting, but they hold on for you

Watch your eyes *****, spewing dark sky
Studded with stars in the hopes of
Outshining all our halogen
Smiles

The dry heat takes your breath away
Leaving you struggling to draw life into your lungs
Sweat dripping off your brow
The sun beaming hot on your back
Miles and miles of sand with nothing else in sight
Make your wish of home
But even the draught there is an unseen beauty there
The peace and quiet tranquility pour over you
A motion in the corner of your eye catches your attention
You see an iguana born to live on this dry forsaken land
Its fast movements scurrying over the sand amuses you
There is a cactus with a gorgeous flower bloomed on its prickly skin
You are but oh so beautiful
The snake slithering leaving amazing marks behind in its haste in the sand
Then a torrent wind brings a sense of being over you cooling you off for just brief moment
But when the sunsets the nights are cool
Sitting around the fire letting your thoughts drift over the wonders of the world

QNA

Sitting by the fire, you stretch,
And breathe. The air is stiff,
Perfumed with insensitivity.
But to whom does this mysterious perfume belong?
For I am quite certain that it is not mine.
Your eyes stare,
My cheeks flush.
Our mouths show shameful smiles.
Slowly we lay on the ground,
Where the cooler air resides.
There is no overbearing perfume here,
Only the fire, the night,
And time.

Blue-Black lining white on a cold night
Dancing silhouettes in the moonlit snow
Eyes strain to see through the cold
The ground must be their stage
The man moves closer
Beautiful creatures emerge
The dancers of the night
The breathing slows, the dancers pause.
The man watches as dark figures approach
The spectacle is not meant for seeing eyes
The man is cold and calls them closer
He grows tired of his blanket of snow
"I beg of you visions, ease my pain"
The visions sway-
A brilliant dance begins
The man watches and smiles
Filled with the warmth of a rising sun
And yet the breathing stops
The night is still dark
More black than blue
And it is cold
An unforgiving cold

shower.

Small boy sitting and thinking
crouched in the shower
alone
(for now)
Deep in thought
shallow in action.
Little boy crying and
screaming inside.
As the water
relieves each sin and
conscience settles in.
Feeble boy drained and
soaked as the worries
of the day wash away.

This is no life for a soldier
a survivor of wars.
So young for an old soul
So old for a young boy.
Quiet boy who cannot help but to
hear the roar of discontent
raging from within.
Little boy scared of the familiarity
of a life lost to sorrow.
A sobbing boy drowning in sadness
wishing only to smile but alas,
alone in the shower, crouched down low
there is no show of solidarity,
only solitude.