I want to tell him
that I’m scared,
that I’ve been here before.
And that the last time I felt potential like this it imploded;
I imploded.
But I don’t want to taint it,
You see I’m still hopeful
That maybe this time
Won’t end up laced with maybes,
Or what ifs,
Or open wounds pouring blood onto paper.
That maybe this time,
just won’t end.

I’ve not quite worked out whether I think it’s beautiful,
Or stupid -
The human capacity,
And pliancy,
And longing,
For love.

First touch
First kiss,  bliss
I lick my lips
The tension releases
This feeling I feel
A sickness
This desire builds
All this touching
Still can't get my fill
Craving that look
Of passion in your eyes
Your disguise,
The satisfaction
Of friction,  sweat
Dripping between crevaces
Following the path
The moisture leaves a trail
To the bottom of the ocean
Explosion
Keep going
To the flame inside
It burns,  for you
Steady and hard
I feel this hunger
Quench my thirst
A slow and soft kiss,
First
Then it's just enough
The volcano erupts
Fall down,  bliss
It all started
With one sweet kiss

Listen, it's a beautiful thing
when distilled to its essence;
reduced to its purest form.
A paradox and a paradigm;
a paragon of perfection.
Epic in its arythmetic
progression; poetic.
Like Chinese arithmetic,
so hard it hurts. Yet soft
and exquisite, like a bubble
of love caught in a beating heart.
That place where poetry starts.

Look outside the kitchen window,
my friend, you and your puppy too,
and you will see it scrumptiously
awaiting you... Reaching out to it,
your fingers will sink into such rich,
creamy sweetness... getting there
first, you can have the whole of it
all for yourself... and let your
puppy lick your fingers!

love, blue passions
spiralling into the night.

we carve ourselves out
of emptiness,
drift where the moon
wanders into the night.

there are no dead leaves,
summer lingers in
the trees, splashes
pools of golden moon
onto the floor.

i can hear your heart-beat,
so soft, so beautiful
that the night whispers
sweet songs to the sky.