If you call out and
he responds, follow the boom
of an oaken door swinging closed
to the silence of the world.

If you reach out and
he grabs your hands, you will feel
the hours of a thousand labours.
Home Reno Hercules.

If you fold into his arms
and he holds you near
be lulled by the iron hooves of
Diomedes stampeding inside.

If you breathe deeply and
his essence coats your veins
tilt your head towards the sun
and taste *** on his skin.

If you mould your shaking hands
along his back, unpick the corded
muscle that is wound tight around
his heart.

If you graze his navel and chest
the rumble of an Alpha roar will sound
in his blood, and will rattle through your
fingers.

A living David, carved and cut from the
bones of father, and blooded by mother.
Storms war inside his mind.
Mountains cower in his shadow.
Oceans riots in his veins.

Man and Monster both.

Green eyes stare hungry.
Brown eyes bore into the cool glassy
reflection that is truth.

I feel a wire-haired and feral hand
crawl and shimmy up my throat
where it longs to pull the unspoken words
out like teeth.

Somewhere in the depths and bowels
a *** of sea salt boiling water rumbles.
Nowhere to let off steam.
Pressure pushes out my angry glare.

Mist that blinds and whispers lies
settles in my ears like dust on an old
mantelpiece.
Grudges are kept safe there.

Hands that clench into iron
and release in frustration.
Death to you all.
I wish I could make you disappear.

Stolen glances that are more
than just curiosity.
No name is safe from the search engine.
Or from me.

Acid tears run scathing burns down
into my lungs, choking on toxic emotion.
Acid tongue sends scathing slurs out
to women I don’t even know.

Venom in each full drawn stare.

Cracked claws carve hatred into my bones
and howl out my rage at the thunderstorm
for all to hear.
The lightning sends a reply.

It is the demons that hold me back
from stampeding.
From marching on the world.
From tasting blood.

Their shadow grip and dagger teeth sink in my soul like only they know.
Muscle strains and rips against the pull.
Sense wins out.

The green eyes blink.
Glossy and fierce.
The brown eyes close.

They are the same.

Gentle shifting of cotton in skin.
Perfect pillows cradle weary muscles.

Watery grey light peaks through the
Back door, singing heavy eyes awake.

No demanding buzz and bells today.
It’s still 7:30 despite.

Shampoo fragrance sinks into plush softness.
Heavy blankets soothe achy bones.

The leaves whistle and whisper into the quite.
Slow and rhythmic breath flutters stray brunette strands.

Its still 7:30, has been for whole time.
Nowhere to be today, the mind at rest.

Pitter-patter of rain counts the seconds
As it falls past unlistening ears.

4 cream-and-cognac wall hum deep.
They hold together as long as needed.

The hands start their cycle.
The great race begins.

Noise and movement explode onto eye lidded screens.

But for a moment…I sat still.
And that is what mattered.

Smoke clogged pores ooze and drip.
*** is heavy breaths, clothes go rip.

Tongues hunt, tasting and hungry.
Eyes eat that which the mind thinks fondly.

Every muscle strains and bays.
Relief leaves bodies torn and frayed.

Limbs entwine and ribs rumble and moan.
Walls, they listen to every sigh and groan.

Souls connect from core to core.
Minds collide and time endures.

Pleasure cries through heady night.
Musk enrobes like full moonlight.

Sweat. Potent, powerful and sticky.
Peaked ******* play so pink and pretty.

Desperate and haggard breaths are
perfumed with lust, love and greed.

Thrum of you, thrum of me.
Blood…it tingles, spirits freed.

A little house on a small black hill
Never growing always standing still

As if to say all here is dead
none survived and all have left
until my dear on one windy day
when the windmill turned
and the ground began to spray

A shoot emerged in that plain of plain
black like the hill
taller than the cane

It grew and grew and grew some more
mighty like mountains
till it seemed no more

And then slowly and quite polite
it extended a bough
at just the right height
for a swing my dear
now do you see the swing
that swings so effortlessly?

A little house on a small black hill
never growing always standing still.
But I see now more than before
that this is not true

I only had to open the door.

Winter-white sun paints against a cloudless sky
and the traveller-winds greet the birds
in languages only they understand.

Warm like no fire ever was, and
blinding like all love there ever will be.
Cascading hair is a waterfall of
chestnut, auburn, chocolate and cinnamon.

A true winter delight.

A piano steps in time with a
distant violin and, together song
and dance flow.
A couple made of the same, for each other.

I wonder if they love each other,
or are they simply soulmates?
What else could explain the beauty of their creation?

Heavy drops and triumphant groans.
These are the songs of the gladiators.

Yoga class fully booked with little nymphs.
These are the halls of the eternally lusted.

Basketball court and players squeak and squeal.
These are the Olympians of the skies.

Soldiers of the treadmill army.
Warriors of weight.
Berserkers of the bulge.
Fighters of fat.

The biggest losers of them all.