Large white wings flapping
Carried the creature away
Into the bright mist of morning.

A thousand feelings rush in.
Summer rains have faded
To autumn, then winter.

A thousand feelings
Flung like cards being played
Some hard, some soft.

Was the bird soft or hard?
The mist was soft hanging there.
The morning, like many, was hard.

The weight of things, so like life.

There they go
The true ladies of the night

Walking the streets
In a protective routine

I hear them laughing
I hear the banter

Out there, down below
My balcony

In the dark of night
Before the dawn's light

They stroll circulative
Calling out occasionally

What wicked deed
Is their goal in darkness

They are the walkers
In our retirement village

Autumn is sleeping as Winter awakes.
We follow with the hope of snow wanting
For snowflakes.

We chase them through our Decembers
Searching, desiring to collect and adore;
Chasing old memories,

And wanting to make more.
Ephemeral like old lace they drift away
As they take our thoughts with them,

Not unlike age.

In the furnace of my mind
I burn to light up the world
With heat expanding a universe.
In pages unfolding I whisper to "Open,
Come in and see.  Inside you can find me
And so many fascinating things."
Expanding, expanding, and hurtling forward
Our world is there before us all.  If only
People would not think so small.

I explored,
I circumnavigate your world
And wondered from where you came?
I danced around the moment,
Spoke with raspberry lips,
Stroll up to you, tall, lanky you
With swaying on my hips.

You were older,
So should have known better.
But I tantalized and teased,
Stirred an emotional need
To say the least, physical.
I can still feel the sensations
Of the moment we began.

You will be outed
Whether as to truth
Or from hearts

Your funerary epitaph:
"He never told a truth."
Carved on stone in relief.

You, you, you!
You, like a box full of Paris in springtime
Blossoms blowing in the gentle breeze,
A spicy dance of can-can at Moulin Rouge,
Or meandering along the banks of the Seine,
And a stroll down the Champs-Elysee
As far as the Arc de Triomphe along the way.

You, a luxuriant lounge on The French Riviera
And traveling in Provence-Alpes-Cote d'Azur.
You are delicious clean air that fills the lungs
When the smell of lavender is everywhere.
Come! Float along the course of the Roia River.
Un titre tu es mon Jardin de délices!
Toi, toi, toi!

Tu es mon seul désir. You are my one desire.