I bottle dandelions, silly-saving them up,
Fearing they will never reach your shores,
The blue island, the rose
Of your lost hope, as I see to it
That you know, understand,
With the subtlest implications,
That the bouquet of my love, your love,
Misses you back.*

© 2015 J.S.P.

I write a piece remastered as though
To make love. It is when my poem engages
And at the same time disengages,
Where the reader keeps wanting, and
Bare, barely, retaliates.

So the poet was a man
And the reader was a woman.
When I write, I hold
And hold her hips.
And the pull was the pull
Of the lips of our kiss.*

© 2015 J.S.P.

I breached the bridge
Between your *******.
Find me there.*

© 2015 J.S.P.

Should snow and dandelions cross,
I might stop loving you.*

© 2015 J.S.P.