“Echo”

Through the tip toe dance of leaves,
their blatant yells and screams,
come back to me,
come back in three.

When you spoke of me last night,
nerves trembling,
puttering,
your might - crumbles - when it touches my door.

Where I feel your heat - every - where.

The bruises down your backside,
the bullet pinned pain down your spine,
I knew you in three.
Come back to me.

Where the doomsday strain,
of constant treacherous game,
I knew it wasn't meant to be.

Please don't come back to me.

'Cause where my flesh tears here,
I linger inside the embers of fear,
and I come - I come to loathe alone.

And, He's really saying,
"I'm sorry, I guess, I'm so **** sorry,
cause your worth,
to me,
isn't set in stone."

Where the inconvenience grates the abysmal rampage,
For I cannot be caged,
as I enjoy your fits of rage.

You ignored me and misunderstood my voice,
now with my might,
you have no choice.

Do you hear me? In three?

Echo, do you hear me?

Faintly, in three,
Karma, don’t come for me.

Echo,
No choice… no choice… no choice.

What happened to your voice?

"This"

Your skin - my skin - and 3,000 miles of our own glorious sin.

It's my fault,
blame it all on me,
because I avoid my fear for more of your,
yum yum yum.

And I need to take more:

I want to kiss your heart, it endures our passion, our lust, our art.

Together,
1 on 1,
so undone,
and I allow you to see my light,
so limey bright.

We've created our own coating of sensational torment -
and I want to only breath your smell.

Sweat trickling down your pleasure trail - in the heat of the night - I will lick in delight.

My ultimate pleasure, my illumination.

You are radiance, you set my soul alight.

I want to kiss your heart, it  stumbles in my art.

What we are, what we are, drift what may, my radiant star....

Depends what your idea of colour is
or if your forever will ever exist.
Too many ink lines on one too many lists,
another reason for you to invest in one kiss.
Visit them, pay them,
lay next to them in Milan:
as there you can let every crease
unravel and unfurl,
let the block roll on,
like every Italian street.

Here, a fake friend has helped you
write a novel,
she helped you out of that darker hovel-
where you once sat and laid,
cut yourself off from
apartment rent and all the prices paid.

Water trickling, grooved patterns of bark
darkening drinking up
Bright yellow creeping
maple leaves losing green
fallen or hanging on

A wind gust
little rush of swirls
tiny leaves come to rest -
wakes the nightjar
from her evening nest

Wet wings, flickers fly
stellar jay looks on,
Roses withered, ages gone
petals on the
ground

A warm hand pressed up against cool glass
Making a hot handprint appear.
The maker of the print lifted their hand
To study the unique swirls and whirls they left.
There is no pattern to the lines that created the handprint.
No precise angle of arches,
Nor perfect precision of patterns.
The transparent window displayed the differences,
Unique to only one person.
Sculpted at birth and remodeled over the years.
Recoding every hardship experienced by the hands.
Each line, arch and swirl different from one another,
All part of a life.
Each hand telling a different story,  
Each story created by a different hand.

Sweet Sinning...
Is eating raw cookie dough when no one is looking
Breaking a cookie so you have no choice but to eat it (you can't serve that to guests)
When your only worry is burning the cookies

Watch the waves on the sea,
The way they change from day to day;
Crashing on the shore.

At full force with the moon at night,
Hitting everything in their way
Watch the waves on the sea,

With walls of water at full height,
Capturing the moon’s rays
Crashing on the shore.

Rocketing mist into full flight
Leaving those without anything to say ,
Watch the waves on the sea,

With the moon as the only light
The show can be seen from miles away,
Crashing on the shore.

With the moon shinning bright,
You just want to stay.  
Watch the waves on the sea,
Crashing on the shore.