I farted, at once, on command
I'd hoped that my gasses'd get canned,
but when they did not
I went out and bought
some stinkbombs before they were banned.

Ain't no
*******
thing to do or make, but
Poetry: productivity --

at best.

These flowers I have ripped from the ground:
stolen from thirsty and bright bees, humming
birds
are my gift to you that will soon die
but not before their beauty does,
and that is what you mean to me.

I added my date of birth to my profile.
It updated.
Next to the numbers is a "-" reminding me it could be over in a dash.

Your lips retreat from mine
as a wave receding
and teasing
with its
rich, wet
beauty

approaching my
pleasant toes
to give me all
,
and just a bit
,
of the ocean
leaving the shore
still wet
as it returns to mystery.

As men we are afflicted with two heads,
with one of logic, one of sordid lust,
with one we shoudld obey, and one we must,
for one is physical in thought, one not –
thus each reacts when love appears ahead;
both heads will grow, but one will fill with thought,
and though this head may seem in one's mind grown
it's rather love has logic overthrown.

The other head is true to feel and size;
it fills with blood and reaches open-eyed;
it hopes to join a lovely place: to fit,
and makes it known by pointing towards her..."it."

While one regards 'made love' as one to find,
the other is emotionally inclined.

You are like the sunset:
everyone wants a moment with you.
But I am not jealous
because I have you at sunrise.