The night moves slowly,
Sensual touches every second,
My breath catches; this is unholy,
And my mind starts racing.

Racing back to when he touched me in the garage,
But his touch leaves a new burn.

I was in bed with my sweet man,
While he traced small circles in my skin,
Thats when the memories began,
And I was in the garage.

The garage where my life,
Took the worst turn.

When his hands left scars up my thighs,
And bruises on my ribs,
Makeup was my best disguise,
And no one knew.

Knew about the garage,
Where my soul wasnt a concern.

How do i get back to my sweet man,
Instead of this ******* who lives in my head,
I need to come up with a plan,
Where i get out alive.

Alive and free,
No longer in the garage i return.

I will not return whole,
I am battered and broke,
Be patient with my soul,
Thats all i ask.

Tell me im not in the garage,
And hold me til yearn.

Yearn not for the pain,
But for the green flowers on my counter,
For how i feel sane,
And heard.

I was not heard in the garage.
But i am now.

for Richard Shepherd who wrote to tell me
one of my babies, (1) made him:
“Oh my, speechless”

my stated aim, my purposed gain,
is to write of only love poetry,
oh too human am I, going astray
the most human contributory trick,
is when “she,” temptation,
oft cajoles,
“this way please” and I easygoing
and submit obligingly

your words spontaneous, mark &
make me, likewise spit out gratitude
of words simple, informing you that
you are too, too kind, then pause reflective
does such a thing even exist?

bemusedly, smiling silent at my silliness,
as I debate~contemplate, the potent notion if kindness can ever be measured as in excess, by what  measuring cup system could we
contrive to ascertain if there be lines drawn,
for the most best of human attributes?

it is Monday Morning and such silly peculiarities have no busily business populating my gray matter, but compulsory
demands state forthright you cannot retreat
from this windrowed wonderland hedgerow,
for when seeing these deep waters,
can easy sink a poet
for a funking, dunking, nay, a drowning!

but I am only dancing around the edges
of a fire upon the beach, and gingerly admit
that there is no limitation to this conceptual,
can we be too human, could one ever not say

your loving, your essences~senses fragrant,
are airborne and therefore unlimited,
beneath this shared sky~sphere.
yet never my intent
to rob a human of
the power of speech

but this statement of de~unlimited awe
too much,
and therefore my understanding deepens,
when and what a heart feels
is without definition,
without lineage,
every time reborn,
and my loving of your kind words,
overflowing will be my
principled purpose
this day

that every person whose path
intersects mine,
shall be greeted with
the tools in my possession,
which thanks to you,
are identified as an undefined
unlimited
too, too much
kindness
and my one job is to
be a proof
of this
raison d'être
for all ofour
existences

this hen issue
now resolved,
be a lovely
au naturel love poem
and obedient
to my
only truest mission