Laughing,
Slow dancing
In bedrooms*

Problems drain away
Like kettle- water down the sink
From our last cups of tea

The smell on your neck
Our jokes and gestures
Like rituals

Teases of where, one day
We might end up.

We could be, on the sea
With the breeze buffeting our faces,
Making violent sails on blue-grey skies

There, you'd stand -
A silhouette on the deck
[Salt-wood & peeling paint]
- Absent minded.
Not understanding
How much
These moments

mean

to me.

Out on the sea
There's nothing but us
Laughing,
Slow dancing

Numb nostrils,
jittery tongues,
swarming the cutting board.
Sharks, whose blood lust
shot off the charts
with the sight of one little baggie,
gnash their teeth
"Pour it out! Line it up!"
"Here's yours!"
"I can't feel my teeth!"
all caught on the reef
thrashing for another dose.
Who am I to judge with this
white gold
in my nose.

God made the perfect creation when he made women
So elegant, charming with their smiles
With the compassion and the ability to love
Even when they frown.
Adam and Eve, two seeds birthed by the hands of God
That started this all, Eve bared the forbidden bear fruit in which she knew
Was wrong, she asked Adam to take part, because she didn’t want to be alone.
Two people made to be together till death do they part
This, is the art… of a woman

When men are alone all we think about is women, why is that?
For a fact, we need and want the subjective progression, in which
Our fathers grew to love.
Why is it that men and women wear cologne and perfume?
We all hope to mate, to find somebody to fill that empty space
In our hearts.
God gave us humans the curse and blessing to love,
Someone other than ourselves

Why is it that women wear tight and fitting clothes?
To show off what Mother Nature blessed her, which is her curves.
She knows that you’re looking and wishing you could have her, but you can’t.
It’s just a tease in order to see if you talk and respect her for lady that she is.
Women are smarter than you think; they make us believe that everything is okay.
They’re strong, goal driven, and sometimes confusing at the most
Some have gorgeous eyes, some have tempting thighs, but we must not lose sight
Of whom they are
Were your protector, you’re our provider to bare a son or a daughter.

You deserve the utmost respect and love, to be treated like queens like you should.
Miss Cleopatra, rubies, diamonds, and gold
Those secrets you have in which were never told.
Behold the art, the astonishing gift God gave us to take care of.
The art, of women something so precious and so gentle.
Made for us men to think and use our mental, fabric of our minds
To straighten up our spines, to be kind and non-judgmental

In order for us to make this work, we must have faith in each other
To believe, and achieve the art of trust.
No luck, no spell, love... the emotion, the gift, so spiritual so bliss
We all want this; this is the art of a woman.

the soul of a writer can be found
in words
s cr
ib
b led on
crumplednapkins -- like horcruxes--
when sleep feels like a far off dream (when people watch you, wondering if you are strung out on coke while you scratch words on these thin sheets of paper in restrauntsbarscoffeshops
half
mad
eyes glassy)
in discernible handwriting comparable
to some
primitive
hieroglyphics-- a language of voices in your head and dreams too vivid
they can be found on the backs of hands
and journals
and popcornbags
when nightlights are too dim in the early hours of insomnia
and moonlight is obscured by curtains
in drinks like london fogs
and ***** chais
and black coffee
and black tea
in packs of empty
American Spirits
and half-full (empty) gas tanks
and piles of books that will never be read that will be re-read and quoted
and tweed scarves and
empty journals and chipped nail polish
in dead pens and phones
in unanswered texts, emails, messages
and unrequited love
their souls can be found in the
stained
bottoms of coffecups
and sticky shot glasses
and wine glasses (some still half full of cheap
redwhitezinfadel
because rent is hard to pay
when no one wants to
read words
scribbled on the back of a napkin

I could lose myself
in you.
I could bury myself and
never look back.
But your love is
quicksand.

You're an
illusion. A card trick.
Houdini's Upside Down.
Will I ever
escape you?
Or are you
the lock that sticks?

The sullen day was over
And the children all asleep in bed
There was no one around
Just you and me.
You came towards me
Moving with a smooth sense of purpose
A sweetness not always present
A hunger for love

You drew deep into the well of me
Opened my eyes and other parts too
I clung to you, lost in the ride
You crawled in me

So perfect was your face
So gentle was your grace
You held me down with love
And I breathed you in
Anyone can love you
But not the way I do
Anyone could have you
But not the way that I do
The sweetness in your eyes
Could never lie

Continuing to live - that is, repeat
A habit formed to get necessaries -
Is nearly always losing, or going without.
It varies.

This loss of interest, hair, and enterprise -
Ah, if the game were poker, yes,
You might discard them, draw a full house!
But it's chess.

And once you have walked the length of your mind, what
You command is clear as a lading-list.
Anything else must not, for you, be thought
To exist.

And what's the profit? Only that, in time,
We half-identify the blind impress
All our behavings bear, may trace it home.
But to confess,

On that green evening when our death begins,
Just what it was, is hardly satisfying,
Since it applied only to one man once,
And that one dying.

I finally allow myself to be this
peaceful
Floating in a bath
of liquid bliss                                           s
I drained my tub of tears                e
weeks ago                                    l
And now above suds               b
of sarcasm                              b
and coping comedic       u
prism rainbow              b
I let my healthy glowing body
be clean
of all those days
***** with dreariness
I ring out
my cleansed tresses
That used to be
waterlogged with weighted worry
Warm and right out of the tumble dry
of your airy love
I wrap our soft yellow world
around my dripping body
and the fresh beauty
of your devotion
sits, settled along my
purified pores

You have allowed a baptism of brightness
into my life.