Her ******* you say
Are only good for suckling
For your needs
For your mouth
So you tell your friends as your laughter vibrates and shakes the room
You fail to tell them that her ******* often cradle your head when you weep
That the only vibrations in those moments are you choking on tears

Her hips you say
Are only good for holding her in place
For making her stay
Because "she's yours"
You fail to tell your friends those hips are often the only thing that hold you up
When you are shaking
And the world is spinning
That they are the only thing that steady your feet

Her hands you say
Are only good for chopping, stirring, serving
For creating anything you desire
You fail to tell them that those hands are often your only saving grace
That those hands have pulled you up when you could not find the strength to

So you forget
All the things about her that keep you alive
Instead you tell the things you believe she is only alive for

Happy  Xmas. Everyone.
And  best  wishes
for  the  New  Year.
Many  thanks  for  all  your  support.
Take  care.

Keith  Wilson.  Windermere.  UK.  2016.

In a world that seems to harbour more bad than good
The word 'trust' seems to have left
It seems to have never existed at all
But with a pen
A camera
And whatever else I can find
I will reclaim it
I will find it
Nestle it in my palms and whisper to it
"It is okay"
And I will share it
With those with broken hearts
Those with lost hopes
I will share it with everyone

it's okay to remember,
keep her with you

memories hurt
but they heal, too

at least,
I hope they do

You cannot swim my dear,
Yet you beg the ocean to love you
Then it swallows you whole to the very bottom of its belly
And it's like you were never there
And when new lovers ride his waves
He caresses them with the same blues
He used to crush you

Darling,
I know you are scared to **** your garden
Because you are afraid it will look too bare
But those pretty flowers you crave need space to grow
So even if it takes you a lifetime
Pull the weeds
Disturb the earth
Plant new seeds

The blue light of the t.v. washes over our intertwined, blanket-clad legs.
We kiss and kiss until the kisses get pleasantly warm and tingly.
Goodness gracious, what's the title of the movie again?
All I can see is his jawline, and his beautiful blue eyes.
His floofy, messy hair.
His untrimmed, fair complexion.
God how I want him, even though I have him.
He sits there, and the t.v. screen glistens in his eyes, his long eyelashes framing the reflection.
I can't watch it, how could I, when a god is before me?
He's so handsome.
He's the definition of handsome.
He is what my grandpa meant, when he was combing my cousin's wet hair that day.
I need him.
So I kiss his cheek, and hope he feels it.
If he does, he'll turn to me with that knowing look in his eye, and he'll kiss me with such passion, it makes me want to cry and sleep.
Good nights, good nights with my prince.
I love him.

this life we live-
it's crazy, isn't it?
funny how the words choke me up
but when it comes down to this:
i have nothing to say
that hasn't been said already.

so what distinguishes me from
the cacophony of voices in my soul?
what makes me different from
the inky blackness in which i
try to hide?

every day is like a battle
but every night just passes like a dream
this life we live,
it's not for everyone but

we love it.

The night is young
& full of rest
I can’t describe the
way she’s dress’d
She’ll pander to some strange
requests
Anything that you suggest
Anything to please her guest

What can I read her
What can I read her
on a Sunday Morning

What can I do that will
somehow reach her
on a Sunday Morning

I’ll read her the news of
The Indian Wars

Full of criss-cavalry, blood
& gore

Stories to tame & charm
& more

On a Sunday Morning
~~~

Some wild fires
Searchout
a dry quiet kiss on leaving
~~~

Like our ancestors
The Indians
We share a fear of ***
excessive lamentation for the dead
& an abiding interest in dreams & visions