I write a piece remastered as though
To make love. It is when my poem engages
And at the same time disengages,
Where the reader keeps wanting, and
Bare, barely, retaliates.

So the poet was a man
And the reader was a woman.
When I write, I hold
And hold her hips.
And the pull was the pull
Of the lips of our kiss.*

© 2015 J.S.P.

I breached the bridge
Between your *******.
Find me there.*

© 2015 J.S.P.

Should snow and dandelions cross,
I might stop loving you.*

© 2015 J.S.P.

She alone will understand
Why the word star in my poetry
     Will never be well put,
Why the colors and the setting change,
And how her name
Does not ring the same,
She alone, where we, she
     Alone.*

© 2015 J.S.P.

Are those who does not hope,
Does not, also, love?*

© 2015 J.S.P.