The soft scent of Shea butter creates
new homes for comfort as I
relax into your oversized clothing.
Solace is reinforced by your hands so vast
that I could fall asleep in your palms forever.
They fortify around my cheeks against
incoming attacks of antagonism.

The contrast is subtle;
you laugh so much but smile too little.
It's striking, your smile.
White teeth against skin so dark
that I half expect to see
the stars emerge,
the same constellations that are
reflected into my eyes when you call me beautiful.

It upsets you when you can't find the words
to bring me relief,
yet it is brought unto me by your touch,
your company, your smile, your scent.
Your ability to **** out the poison
left by venomous attacks
that hindered me nights full of desire
as though you were simply ******* on my
skin in scattered patterns during playful blunders.

You are comfort when comfort is needed.

Given the gravity of the situation some say I'm knee deep in this "Lust"
What they can't comprehend is the palpable love I desire from you.

There is no moon tonight
just the cold stars
in the unfeeling sky
yet I cling on to dreams

the gypsy caravan
I stood & gazed at
as a child
in the City museum

is still there
painted, gilded
calling for the carefree road
& in my heart

long before I met you
lived my fascination for your mysterious people
enchanters,  fortune-tellers,
some say, child & horse thieves

portrayed thus
in my Mother's Russia
- the wild people of the endless road
the people & whose fiery songs I wanted to follow-

& now, in a far off world, bewitched
by you,
I find out that your dark eyes
are that of a gypsy - Romany

& it's like fate
like D. H Lawrence
' The ****** & the Gypsy'
so why, Northener, do you not love me

like your people, I am also a wanderer
a creature of the road
a castaway with no home
than the one my heart happened to find


if you or fate somehow cast this love spell
upon me
if this was meant to be, you should love me, Gypsy
only that would make sense

take me away
let us go a-wandering
across the land, moors & hills
beautiful boy, sweet poet

do you know I once tread the winter's
frost all the night's way to town
for you, hoping to seal
my love's fate

the dark sky
above me
doesn't know how to lament
lost love

the summer of it's heart
has passed,
drunk long away
in quiet pubs

there is only this poem
poorly written -
my heart bleeding
on my sleeve

. . .
We often think that we seize the moment, when really, the moment usually seizes us.

We often think we will know when it is our time to go, but life chooses for us.

We often think that we fall in love, when it is love that falls deep inside us.

We often think we can be broken by things, but that is only true if we let them break us.

We often think that we have no direct effect on the world, but the world has a direct effect on us.

We often think
. . .

I feel like crying
some few tears will do
to wash away the dark
cloud I harbor
At my back.