The pleasure of a well turned phrase
Does not approach your touch, your taste,
My tongue's adventure in your lips,
Smooth motion of your pulsing hips.
If words could ply their way inside,
I'd give up my infernal pride
And scream your name--a madman's way--
To ask if you have more to say.

Life wears me out with
its twists and turns
and hairpin curves.
I keep waiting for a long
peaceful stretch of
highway, bathed in
the rising sun;
a golden wheat field
to the left, a moss covered
pond with dragonflies to
the right.

The road turns to
gravel and rapidly
climbs uphill.
There are signs along
the way that promise
the world.
The road becomes narrow,
turns to dirt,
and ultimately disappears.

I passed out on
some apartment
steps downtown.
Too much beer and
****** the night before.
two cops wake me,
and take me to jail.
when I got out the
next day,
they gave me my
clothes and property.
I had two ****** left,
and ate them while
changing out of the
tangerine colored jumpsuit.
I stepped into the
bright sunlight,
slipped on my ray-Bans,
nowhere to go.

~
abruptly waking to discover
the sempiternal daylight of herself
in a small silent village in Brussels

the sky's a cloudless blue
and she needs the sun
like children need two parents

sunglasses conceal bedroom eyes
smiles hide like inverted *******
clothed in peekaboo milieu

a highly individual creature
in an era of the exaggerated curve
she's an amnesiac

doodle-dawdling in the altogether
wrapping herself around
mise-en-scène

it's breakfast with Mr. Svengali
then unacquainted foothills
and undergrowth
in the flaring of conjugal
light and shadow

hum
thrum
'n strum
she's got the whole wide world
in her hands

her simple slantwise silhouette
declivitous neck
inclining embonpoint
summoning him

no clock, no watch
the keeping of time
is served by rapping
her crown upon the headboard
at regular intervals

her open-tempered sighs
closing with the heaviness
of a sleepy hush

until the echoing of church bells
announce the footfalls
of tomorrow-come-looking
~

A palette blessed
with every possible shade
and hue there is…

But somehow,
the colours are all wrong
the moment
they meet the canvas.

and you look through me
as if I’m a ghost, with no skin
or bones, as you drone on, bored
like a skipped needle on a record.

I bare my soul
and your clock says that
it’s time to take a walk/feed the cat.

I bare my soul
on my knees, clutching
my chest. I can’t breathe. I weep
a puddle on your floor. And drown
in it once more.

I bare my soul
as a hurricane. You shake
my hand, leading me out
into the wind and rain. My hair
wraps around my face. Fills in
the space between eyes, nose
and teeth. So, I look like a russet sheath.