How's about
once a week,
one writer chooses
A word.

One word
for every
writer here
to expound
upon and
express themselves
over?

Perhaps on a weekend when possibly everyone has a bit more time to write?

Just a thought that
I think,
would be fun?

Feedback appreciated.

Fragile are the moist lips of your lover.

But;

even more fragile, are the words that fall from them.


written by me... ..

I will always be
the song you forever skip
on your playlist,
and I'm not sure why?

If only you played the song
enough number of times,
or
even once...
then the song
might have
stuck in your head.

How sad it is for you;
to not have listened to
an unravelled,
beautiful genuine mystery.

It may have been sweet music
to your ears...
and sounds that made your heart-
skip a beat.

But hey..

-
I guess that some mysteries are better left unknown?

Some music is never meant to be heard by your soul?

Some lips were never meant to be pressed firmly against yours?

I'm the song you prefer to skip perhaps;
'just because'.....
I guess.

Till this day I still taste that very first kiss
Right then and there I knew it was something
to miss
Those two sweet lips as pure as cane sugar
A kiss I knew that I always wanted to fight for

Like the innocence of a butterfly
Those kisses left me wanting and you didn't even have to try
And
the molasses of your voice never left me wondering why?

In the rain I would catch each drop from your upper lip
Thirstily lap them up
and leave nothing for anyone else
....not even one sip.

written by me... ..

I left my
alcohol at
satan's
doorstep.
A doorstep
I never plan
on
stepping up to
again.
Satan can
keep my
*****.
I simply choose
to no longer
lose.



written by me... ..

Oceans
claim to
know me.
But only
the river
I allow
to run along
side of me.
Oceans,
sure they
may be
deep.
But a
raging river
can never
be held
in captivity.



written by me... ..

It rained.
It rained upon the mature tree that lives along the river's edge.
A defiant tree that grows against the wind's best.

It rained.
It rained upon the mature man walking his young prancy pup from garbage can to garbage can.
Empty bags to start,
but at the end,
2 full bags in hand.

It rained.
It rained upon my 94 Sierra pick up truck that faces the fog stricken river.
Rain drops glance methodically off of my windshield and at the moment, my shelter giver.

It rained.
It rained so worms would come from hiding and wiggle along the ground.
Wiggling worms that are snatched up by 6am birds with nary a sound.

It rained.
It rained to replenish this paradise and to quench a thirst that never wanes.
A thirst for plush greens that can be admired from every windowpane.

It rained.
It rained on me as I toil and persevere to provide.
It rained and muddied me, a man that puts his pride aside.

It rained.
It rained again this day.
It rained without apology.

written by me... ..