We were young, and the lights were out,
Spinning rooms and turning heads.
The last great generation—blooded hearts,
Passions born not of screen, but skin.
We longed, we loved, we lived—
Lifted to the highest plane,
With music and flesh as our true witness.
Those times were more than murmured whispers—
We were real, we were true,
Visceral tombs to the last great time for all.

Tom LeFort 2025

I remember, in all 5 senses, you.
Dreams of you, light up all perceptions.

Visions pierce my sight
with vivid colors—red & blue
your tender eyes,
your beating heart,
lips lined with passion
back-dropped by seaside sunset brilliance.
You are my light.

Scents linger in mind’s breath—
you, so clean, shower-fresh;
tangy tangerine;
flowers--lavender and lilac,
varied hues of scented roses,
garden of our memories

My tongue, hungry for you, tastes our history as
shared popcorn, counted sushi, big soft pretzels, sampling tasty foods;
a shot of ***** from your mouth, light-headed shock;
and most missed that freshly long minty kiss; water licked from clean soft skin; the taste of you within. . .mmm

Your sounds whisper in my dreams—
rhythmic breathing; rhythmic heartbeat;
soft light lasting laughter ringing in my ears (though now long faded, those tones echo ever through the chambers of my mind);
gentle listening caring voice
(must you say “good-bye”?)

Forevermore I’ll miss, your loving touch—
warm & gentle, firm & safe,
strong secure hug, encompassing;
Playful moments, teasing
Would those moments ‘neath your skin,
Moments merging bodies, might return & lasting be.

I dream in all 5 senses wistfully,
wishing fully to sense you in reality.

(To the One Who Never Read It)

Words which silenced
the fieriest volcano,
Commas that held the
flashes of the skies;
Etched; Stitched;—
Like a spider web,
stuck in an Oak tree;
With no name written
at the end...
Tell me,
Tell me dear,
Do you remember
the first ink blot which
shed its tears on you?

like a frog springs atop  a lily pad,
her enthusiastic essence was as scad.
like an infant sprawls into a deep sleep,
her appearance was an embodiment of babysheep.

like a coordinated kitchen fork blends with the spoon
we both accumulated as the exquisite winter's moon.

on a decadent day,when we will reunite,
she would still guffaw at my scrappy jokes
the void will transform into light
when your gaiety will crash the plight.

The sun is out.
The children scream and shout
All about.

There is no more school.
Everyone in the pool!
No more looking like a fool.

They run outside,
Find places to hide
And bikes to ride.

Everyone is having fun
No rush, no places to run.
Relax and play with anyone.

No one is stressed,
No more weight on their chests.
This is why summer is the best

I want my hope to go away forever
To silence its tiny voice in my heart
Get away from me
Shut up and leave
Don't ever come back to me
Yet that tiny flame burns brightly
What do you want
Just stop it already
I want the hope to finally die
Die like the way I died that day
Time has passed
So give up already
This hope of mine torments me
It gently brushes its hands on me
Reminding me
Whispering to me
I want this hope to finally let me go
So that I can finally let you go

your favourite colour
was blue.
maybe it still is,
i wouldn't know.
but whenever i see
that deep shade of blue,
that isn't too deep to be
navy and thoughts,
but also not
light enough to be
ashy and gentle,
i think of you.
this was your colour.
and i still
see you in it.

Ode to the Stream that sits stagnant
somewhere over Northgate Green:

I have sat by it and observed
Rippled currents falling down
Into murky shallows, an un-natural
Green, like mountain-dew
Breathing frothy spots of bubbles
That circle a rhubarb vape
And a sprite can and a
Heineken can and a
Little hopping Wren darting
Between curled roots.

I remember too,
The drips of
Rain water
Worming
Down the dingy
Alleyways of
My childhood,
Dripping down
Nettles and
Seeping into
Cracked brick and
Sodden dirt
And part of - now a -
Sordid cigarette packet.

And from some
Geography class,
I remember how
This water was
Reborn, once
In massive clouds,
Grumbling masses,
Sky's mother who
Shadows the

Bursting
Writhing
Violent
Rivers
And
Vast Fjords
And
Reaching Peaks
And
Breaching Skys
And
Once
Birthed
As torrent
Rainfall
Tearing
Massive wounds
Into tectonic
Plates

The
Blood of matter
And organism
And that which
Carries our ****
In every form

But that's not all. As, I recall:
The lifting motion of staring
Into 'etched lines of water'
From rain, tracing bulbous
Recollections on opaque glass
And knowing they don't
Know where they are going
And I bask in the significance of
This insignificance.