this is the moon's
quiet rose, the unfolding
of the clouds, tranquility
resting her head,
the beautiful sea.

I am the Poet, hear my siren’s song
My woven whispers ****** ways and words
Mesmerizing, you will feel you belong
Be part of an inner circle and be heard

Write with me, no lines will be false or blurred
Together we will create and be strong
There’s no need for pleasure to be deferred
I am the Poet, hear my siren’s song

I have been sad and alone way too long
Belonging together is most preferred
Creating brings joy, won’t you come along?
My woven whispers ****** ways and words

Take a chance and your senses will be stirred
Part of our circle, not lost in the throng
We are more together, grace is conferred
Mesmerizing, you will feel you belong

All ideas are welcomed, no thought is wrong
Just know this; your spirit won’t be interred
May our venture be successful and long
Be part of an inner circle and be heard
I am the Poet

krs
July 21, 2015

petals of the wind,
like lilies unfolding
in the water.

After Work**

The shack and a few trees
float in the blowing fog

I pull out your blouse,
warm my cold hands
     on your *******.
you laugh and shudder
peeling garlic by the
     hot iron stove.
bring in the axe, the rake,
the wood

we'll lean on the wall
against each other
stew simmering on the fire
as it grows dark
            drinking wine.

There Are Those Who Love To Get *******

There are those who love to get *****
and fix things.
They drink coffee at dawn,
beer after work,

And those who stay clean,
just appreciate things,
At breakfast they have milk
and juice at night.

There are those who do both,
they drink tea.

Still sleep warm,
I am coaxed into
consciousness
by your fingers lazily
grazing the elastic
of my underwear.
That smooth plateau
between the mountains
of my hipbones: home.
Overnight, my shirt
has ridden up, too hot
in the California nights
neither of us are used to
yet, proven by the pool
of sweat beneath my
lower back. The sticky
staleness of my skin
matches yours.
We are anything but
a disaster, and still,
I am a fault line. Feeling
the tremors rumble low
in my belly, your overheating
hands the magma forcing
plates apart, revealing
the new earth beneath.
There's danger in my inhale,
the risk of being shaken to
the core and unfixable.
Yet not even an earthquake
could divide us: love.


**V. K.