When I was young
the lens to my eyes was stained in rainbows
the world was colourful and
life, a rainbow pie.

As I grow up,the stains wash off
and I realise,my lens was never colourful
for every time I awake, the hue is further from my sight
For every time I want a rainbow pie,
life reminds me I'm not yet there.

prune early
crumbs of snow fog
whimper brambles

Draw a stick figure
future - diminished
and virus ransomed.

Paint the landscape
with the sweltering glare
of global warming.

Come share this
with me - let kisses heal and
soft whispers inflame.

Some locks need two keys
to open; some heavens can
be reached by mortals.

we experience
and are result awakened
moment here and now

the skin of your fingers
are her fingers;
the tongue's apex
a xerox of her own tongue;
she dappled your cheek's curvature with vulpecula
and you appreciate, despite yourself,
this loving sense of detail.
forgive a master sculptor if she feels
entitled to a private moment with her own
aphrodite of knidos.

muddle puddle paddle
your own canoe

across the muddy puddle
undo the muddle and paddle
your own canoe

muddle puddle muddy paddle
your own canoe