the stench of all my yesterdays hang around me like a cloak
and all my nightmares contain the same old villains
-its just the settings are newly invented by the master of make believe
that creepy malevolence who hangs around waiting for me to sleep
then pounces in a story line only the darkness could conceive

Nights were never meant
for sleeping. Just gentle
love and hugs.

Camping wasn't meant for
bonfires and roasted
marshmallows. But meant
for sleeping bags and your
lover to be the pillow.

Nights were meant for
kissing under the starry
skies and tangled limbs.
Soft kisses and ******
whispers in your lovers
ears as well.

They were meant for making
out gently instead of rough
messy loud ***.

Because the angels fly above
the ripples in our sheets as
they watch us and play their
harps and violins.

While we kiss each other's
lips over and over again as
passion fills our naked bodies
from within* ~

Her clothes race to
the floor while they're
stripped off by him.

She's left in his room
naked again. He kisses
her soul before her
gentle skin.

While sunlight covers
them from the cracks
of his window. He sets
music in the background.
A solo violin.

While he drenches her
in kisses from head to
toe making the seeds
trapped under her curves
to bloom like flowers  
in the season of
spring* ~

Our country is a garden.
The people are the flowers.
And our army men are the
strong green stems* ~