I can’t stop thinking of lips,
Glossy, pouty and luscious,
A tongue that twirls, darts and dips,
Sensing a sense so precious.

No feeling exceeds kissing,
More than any sense of touch,
If lips on mine went missing,
I’d miss nothing else so much.

Dreaming of red lips on mine,
With a tickling tongue atrill,
Feather soft tongue’s tip so fine,
I cannot hold my heart still.

Use a tongue to enter me,
Grab my face to *******,
Taste as sweet as sweet can be,
Kissing’s where my love comes from.

You’re Not The One I Dreamt Of

You’re not the one I dreamt of,
The secretly sinister
Mysterious character
Who was laughing at my love.

You’re not the one I dreamt of,
Your face was so different,
Pretentious while diffident,
Toying with falling in love.

You’re not the one I dreamt of,
Inviting my hidden needs
Promising the basest deeds
Manipulating my love.

You’re not the one I dreamt of,
With the lips of a temptress
And eyes of a seductress
Who live in dreams not in love.

Last year blessed me like no other,
Though past sins need absolution,
In my hoping for another,
I offer these resolutions:
Continue to write to inspire.
Keep after curiosity.
Win Powerball and then retire.
Adore those who inspire me.
Take pride in watching my sons grow.
Love them through the mistakes they’ll make.
My books featured on a talk show.
Act with intent for Heaven’s sake.
Achieve integrity in love.
Try to see more without my eyes.
Get weight down instead of above.
Tell my faithful heart fewer lies.
Resolve traumas at years ago.
Listen more closely to God’s voice.
More west coast to avoid the snow.
Don’t waste a moment to rejoice.
So thank you for the things I’ve seen,
Keep in touch in Twenty Nineteen.

In your coming and your going,
Feel the love my soul is knowing,
The gentle zephyr through your hair,
Should remind you my love is there.

In your pictures or in the flesh,
Each time my love wakens afresh,
Incomparable imagery,
Arouses love inside of me.

In whispers or your written word,
I dream that mine’s the voice you heard,
You’re nothing short of living art,
Writing your poems on my heart.

In fantasy or in my bed,
“I love you” shall not be unsaid,
You may well be a dream unreal,
But truth is in the love I feel.

She’s a figment for vulnerable men
Who see beauty through self-loathing windows.
Her beauty is far too much to take when
It pierces the heart where passion’s sin goes.

Ashamedly smitten men curse their eyes
For beholding beauty they don’t deserve.
They seek her attention, she ignores their cries.
They grovel on their hands and knees to serve.

Her nakedness sows men’s basest skin’s need,
For intimate contact with lurid thought.
She is the temptress, they’ll follow her lead,
Through gates of despair their lustfulness brought.

She strikes men dumb just because she is there.
They have nothing real and pure to compare.

I’m aware of my awareness of you,
Of my absorbing everything you do,
And wonder if you are aware of me.
But you are not real, so how could you be?

I’m loving the feeling of loving you,
Of investing my heart in all you do,
And hoping inside that you’re loving me.
But you hide your heart, so how could you be?

I’m aroused by my arousal from you,
Of the lust I feel watching all you do,
And aching for you to make love to me.
But I am nothing, so how could you be?

I’m needing those needs I have for you,
Of needing to live in the world you do,
And needing to dream you also need me.
But you’re just my dream, so how could it be?

Which other side would you reflect
If you turn?
What kind of change could you affect
If you turn?
Something new to learn?
Turn.
The world’s your concern?
Turn.

What would be your new direction
If you turn?
You would overcome rejection
If you turn.
That to which you yearn?
Turn.
Live the life you earn.  
Turn.