We kept Whispering Our Desires,
beneath the Sheets of White Satin.
Our Kisses kept pouring
and their Words were in Latin.
Our Feelings, Calmly and Gently,
were moaning in Pleasure.
That's When Our Hands arrived,
at the spot they most Treasured.
With My Lips I went Humming,
around Her precious Spot.
With both Her Hands,
She Worshipped what She Got.
Like an Amorous Knight,
I went riding Her Post.
After Our Sessions ended,
I raised Her, a Champagne Toast.

You had me
feeling like gold
and I had no gravity

So tasty, the smell

of steaming bread, freshly baked --


while I was sleeping.

Why is pleasure measured in moments,
while work is measured in weeks or years?

Pleasures are like insubstantial fictions, sweet treats gone
in the tasting or perhaps flowers, that once cut, wither.
So don't be enthralled by fickle snippets of passion.

Work and service have the weight of reward,
by labor's honest toil, we fashion, forge and provide.

Can you still feel their pain?
Or have we forgotten pleasure
Try to bleach away the stains
Blood left on your treasures

Bury the coins down deep
And lock away the guilt
While choking on the key
My inky guts spilt out

I'm sick on melancholy
Numb to what's right or wrong
The ship has sailed, behold her glory
Sirens wail, so great their song

Stories told by word of mouth
Gossip scribbled out a map
X marks my heart, 10 paces South
Tricked again, fell in the trap

The clash of steel, the smell of smoke
Aye, I gouged out his eye again
Nay, just another sad bloke
Who's plans went awry Captain

As I patched up my face, and dusted my coat
A crack in the mirror split across my soul
The two parts of myself, the survivor and the ghost
Both covered in blood from others we stole.

love doesn't dash, it loiters
with repeated movements like music
and beautifully crude endearments

love doesn't dash, it lingers
with rhythms like dance
and boastfully rude aphorisms

so dally with me, my love
lollygag, lounge and in a while
we'll share breaths and mess about

As a baby, I

had a lot of fun falling --


into daddy's hands.

pain does not become
pleasure it becomes nothing
but pain

Grandma is bored, she waits
for my wedding and perhaps
she fantasises that I'm getting pregnant

How would it have been
with grandfather and her in bed?
We don't talk about that

just about the afternoons
in the sun, gaining some
colour for the summer

She would have liked that, but
at that time people thought differently
Anyway, bikinis did not yet exist

So much has changed, she reads it
to me from the magazine
and I laugh at her astonishment

She is old, her hair as white
as the walls in this sun, lovely
Lu does not have to come yet