I love the sounds
we make.
The squeaking bed,
our gasps and moans,
the whimpers and sighs...
of grunts and growls
and skin slapping skin
or that wonderful
churning butter
slurp slurp slurp
of *** well done.

Southern summers are so ****** hot,
its sound is the drip, drip, drip
of condensation from the air conditioner,
and of sweat off the tip of your nose.
Each year I ask...
which is worse;
the long, cold, brutal Maine winters,
or the long, hot, humid Virginia summers?
The summers are worse.
You can always put on more clothes
but can only take off so many
before you’re arrested for indecent exposure;
or worse, nobody notices.
I’d rather be arrested.
There are days when flesh on the bone
is too much to wear.

Spring’s beautiful down south
but brash and sudden.
Up north she tiptoes up
and peeks through the window
then timidly taps on the door to see if she’s welcome
(still easily intimidated by winter)
before settling down for a spell.
When spring arrives in Maine
we cautiously peel off our outer garments
like the petals of an artichoke braised and well seasoned
savoring each discarded layer
until we reach the delicious, tender heart
and discover once more
we’re not just a pile of animate clothes
but bodies,
sensuous, delectable, playful bodies
full of trembles, shudders and precious sighs.
Down south
it’s jackets to tee shirts overnight;
no luscious dropping of winter clothes
one by one
into seductive piles on the floor,
no ******* gasp
as the first warm breeze gently caresses bare skin,
scarce any renewal.
But then,
subtlety has never been
a southern trait.

The morning after love,
stains on the sheets.

The morning after love,
tears on the pillow.

I dreamed last night
of ice cream.
The soft serve kind
chocolate and vanilla swirl.
Cool and sweet
melting in the sun;
running down the cone,
across my hand,
sticky and dripping.
Then I woke
and looked outside,
still winter.

Never has something so small
held such a promise of pleasure...
your *******.

Summer falls
like a dress
cascading down
to reveal
the autumn of her beauty.

She slowly bites
into a ripe
summer peach.
I watch its nectar run
over the chin;
and down her neck,
disappearing
between her *******.
I stifle a gasp
and bite
my lip.

Bury me deep
in the pillow of your sighs...
soft as clouds in a summer sky.

Caught in a puddle of sunlight,
unable to move...
I sip my tea
and watch the moon.

Women are a gateway;
a path and goal unto themselves,
you know this as I.
The­y are our way into this world
and out of ourselves.
If you are no­t careful
some pretty eyes and a tempting form
will sweep you up;
sure as shangh­aied,
to worlds and lives
you never dreamed.
After its over
you w­ill pick yourself up;
and withdraw inside,
to lick your wounds an­d cry.
Then one day...maybe while you're gardening
you will look ­up and think...
What was that all about?
And get on with your lif­e.
But then a pretty smile and a tempting form
will beckon and of­f we go again,
sure as shanghaied.

We are free.
Forever and always free.
No one owns you;
no mortal or divine...
no government or religion.
Life is free...
its survival that costs everything.

You have written your name
in the sands of my heart.
I could no more forget you
than I could to breathe.

I am thankful for the parents
who sparked my life...
and grateful they gave me up.
I'm happy for the people who adopted me,
and who they were.
I'm blessed that they taught me
a love for reading,
and encouraged my interests.
They never denied or belittled
a single one.

I am honored that the bullies at school
targeted me for their hostility.
They taught me
tolerance and compassion.
As for the teachers
who took me by the hand
and gave me the tools to think for myself...
thank you.
Now for the girl who took my virginity,
a smile and a kiss.

For the drill instructor
who yelled himself hoarse at me...
he gave me forbearance.
As for my shipmates,
they taught me how to work with others,
and made me strong.
Thanks to the girls
in the waterfront bars
who kept me warm at night,
they taught me passion.

To my late wife...what can I say?
You gave me the gift of your love
and the freedom to return it tenfold.
You made a man of me.
I'm proud I loved you
and that it was no other.
To my step kids...
to hell with the step;
I raised you as much as your dad did,
and I am honored to have done so.

To all of those who've touched my life
both good and bad;
you are part of me now...
until my life,
dissipates with a sigh.
Each one of you has shaped
and molded me into who I am.
I couldn't be me now
without every one of you...
thank you.

Your smile
was the calm eye,
in the storm of our life
together.

Oh Goddess, Mother Earth
Madonna of the squirming world.
Yours is of the soil.
The stench of life... ****, ****, ***
and dirt.
The churning nitty gritty.
In the garden,
behind the barnyard...
in the wreckage of a bed
bent over the kitchen table.
Goddess, Life.
I worship you
In all
your sweaty glory.

****** are the greedy,
for theirs is a paucity of spirit.

****** are the callous,
for their hearts lack empathy.

****** are the pompous,
for all they can see are themselves.

****** are the self-righteous,
for their faith is shallow.

****** are the merciless,
for they shall be denied mercy.

****** are the bigoted,
for they do not know love.

****** are the warmongers,
for they shall be called the children of hell.

****** are they who persecute those who are different,
for they shall never know peace.

I love the dark places
of your body...
the warm moist shadows
pungent, **** and sweet.

I love the dark places
of your body...
the curves, the openings and hollows
moaning come closer.

I love the dark places
of your body...
the way they swallow me
coaxing me out of me into you.

I love the dark places
of your body...
the way they let me play as I will
until the little death embraces us.

"Sail away over the horizon
and either the dragons get you,
or you drop off the edge of the world.
Or, maybe, just maybe,
mast bound,
eyes wide,
and Siren haunted...
You come home
from around the other side."

Free to the first caller,
one set of dreams,
another of hopes.
No longer needed...

March began with snow on the mountains
winter's remnant of bitter white.
Yet just a months passing
and all the world is new.

Down by the river
the air seems like
a gray green mist
of new leaves just sprouting.

Some birds…I've never seen them
have moved into the air conditioner,
their babies squawk and scream
for their dinner like all babies do.

I sit and watch the gray green mist
ascend up the mountains,
and sure as season's turning
I'll watch the autumn colors descend.

As I get older that cycle;
the living and the dying,
gives me all the meaning I need,
but aren't beginnings lovely?

I taste you with my eyes
savoring your curves.
I drink the scent of your hair
in deep draughts swallowing hard.
I breathe your breath
like a cool, refreshing breeze.
I sop up your sighs
with the bread of my body.
Carnivore,
I offer you my throat.
Devour my heart
pounding in your mouth.
Drink me
until I’m lost within you.
Eat my saltiness
rolling round the tip of your tongue.
My soul, my song, my feast, my desire;
I am yours,
stake your claim at my table.

That moment,
when the light in her eyes
becomes a fire.

There was a man on the bus
today
with hostile eyes...
steely blue and suspicious.

The thirty something woman
across from me;
with black eye and split lip,
her's were wet with tears and fear.

A young couple
only had eyes for each other.
Glistening
with love and desire.

The bigot’s eyes
were all a glower;
hostile and condemning...
The couple was interracial.

The old woman’s eyes
tired with many years,
looked back with memories
and forward to release.

The little child’s eyes
wide with wonder
took everything in,
grist for the mill.

As I wander from
face to face,
I wonder what stories
my eyes offer?

Out of lust...
Out of desire,
Carefully, lovingly  
she chose the finest,
most supple leathers.
Length and width she measured them...
to size each finished braid.
Four she made, each stitched
with tearing eyes.
Weaving them together
she bit her lip imagining...
their sting on her buttocks.

Emotions wrack our bodies;
thunderstorms of feeling,
leaving us naked and breathless.

There are but two paths,
expose ourselves to that whirlwind
the other, close off our hearts.

One is the embrace of life,
the other its denial...
one living, the other a living death.

Which to chose is up to you
but me I'll accept the pain,
and joy of being alive.

There’s a look
a woman gives a man
when she wants him;
longing for his touch,
her body
aching with desire.

There’s a look
a woman gives a man
in her rapture;
lost in the moment,
her body filled,
her body surrounding.

There’s a look
a woman gives a man
full of regret and recrimination;
of dreams unfulfilled,
hopes aborted
never born.

There are looks
and there are looks
but no matter how hard we try;
how tight we press the flesh together,
two souls joining becoming one
is just a fleeting dream.

In deep unsettled dreams
past midnight,
a fear gnaws
at the edges of my heart...
The moon is the only lover
who's never turned away.

The world *****
It's full of evil and violence…
The world is the most beautiful thing
We will ever experience.

Way down south

past the *******;

through the short curly hairs,


secure under her hood,
lives the nun.
And when she's coaxed

just the right way
you moan and dance.

In the park out walking
all alone,
some foggy night.
In the shadows,
movement.
Shared glances;
smile, Hi.
We touch.

Jan. 10, 2006

When we are young
all paths are open to us.
Then as we age,
one by one
they close
until we are left
on the only path
that matters...
our own.

I dreamt of you last night.
I was following
the railroad tracks
into town.
But it was different,
run down, dilapidated
abandoned.
I wandered into a shop
and there you were
behind the counter.
We hugged.
I told you
that I had always loved you.
We walked back down
the railroad tracks
into dreams.

There are no prayers
for the easy passage
of a life.

There is no sound as deafening
as the stillness
of a heart.

There's no spark
that can relight the fire
in your eyes.

If the rest of you
tastes as fine as your kisses...
I am in for a feast.

The same I look's out your eye as mine...
the perspective is different,
that is all.
We are one...
so close
no words can say.

I walk into a grocery
to do my shopping.
I grab a cart;
and in the basket,
a scarf.
I hold it up...soft wool,
brown, beige and rust striped.
I hold it to my nose...
and catch the scent of a clean,
healthy young woman.
I close my eyes and imagine.

She's vibrant and pretty
in the fullness of life.
Small with firm *******
and wide welcoming hips...
her eyes brown,
with long dark hair bounded
by a soft wool scarf.
Maybe she's an art student...
meeting up with her lover.
Its a cool late autumn day,
and flushed faces show
the pleasure of their meeting.
Holding hands
they shuffle through the fallen leaves
planning for a future
blissfully unaware
of how now shapes us more.
They go shopping for dinner,
and she accidentally
leaves the scarf behind.
Some paths close now,
others open
and life moves on.

I open my eyes smiling
and gently fold the scarf.
Laying it down
I think
it will make a lovely addition
to my collection.

I catch the scent of you
on my fingertips...
and gently smile.

The season's first lightning bug like a ghost
seen from the corner of the eye...
what's that?

Every ******* thing I do
these days,
you're not there.

In moments of profound silence
when the heartbeat is just a whisper,
you can hear the ancient winds of Heaven
blowing through your soul.

Fresh as a warm, ripe tomato
right off the vine.
Juicy and sweet
your kisses.

The topography of your body...
Is the landscape
I call home.
Scaling your heights
plumbing your depths...
your wetlands
and peaks.
If I were blind
I could find my way
by tracing your form
with my greedy hands.

We are spirits of this world,
its fate and ours, inexorably bound.
Every day that passes,
we hurl faster toward the light.

No one has any clothes on,
We're all naked.
That tailor lied to everybody.

I remember you
when you were me and I
looked out from your eyes.

Between eternity
and eternity,
eternity.

Much to its annoyance,
darkness too
travels at the speed of light.

A house
without a mouse
is not a home.

I have never been tempted
down the primrose path of reality.
In the back of an old wardrobe
is a lamp post in the woods...
along an ancient path
vaguely remembered.