Oh the cringing  demon of eternal youth,
******* away promise and hard won truth.
I see far more than ***, lingering, in her eyes
I see, instead, the milk teeth of youthful lies,
of forever and today, hopes and screams
replacing tomorrows, frayed at the seams.

Oh, mere ***, be gone, you sordid troll!
Crawl yourself back in your hole.
If ‘tis *** you brought to this trapped piece of light
then speak to your own soul and leave me a bite
of the apple she does not offer
and the delights you think her youth will proffer.

I have no time to dance to your twisted tune
of youth over too fast and maturity too soon!
What stinks more of your *******;
her stretched, prolonged, aging youth or back bared, partial  ******?

I giggle as I consider her Eve-like dreams
of bitten apples and grander things.
And God said, let there be light.
Is that truly all He said when he banished the night?

Maybe she is wet from being born.
From demon Youth’s desperate grasp she is torn
and into the world, for a moment, she is cashed;
back bared and ready to be lashed
by the ‘cruel’ reality we keep from youth…
…like bronzed, baby booties and baby’s lost tooth.

Maybe, coquettishly, she glances ahead,
away from the bonds of youth’s birthing bed;
not, as you apparently dream, toward some sordid affair
you see in bared skin and strands of dampened hair!

There is beauty in her eyes, it is true,
the beauty of youth’s first, full faced view
of tomorrow and tomorrows again…
Exactly how long do you think, she should remain a youth, then?
Oh the Apple that lingers past ripe upon a tree,
Snakeless, Eve-less, unchosen, unbitten for an eternity.
Shall we trap, virginal, in iron cages of our blind, stupid lust
the false innocence of youth only tears and death can rust?

Foolish, foolish Adam and blind, impregnable Eve; is *** all you can ever see?
I can peer past your layers and layers and layers of false, bitter modesty.
If you see ******* then know this, before you atone:
You bring that demon wherever you go and it is yours and yours alone.

sugared fingers, the smell of Chanel
and I am flushed on red berry wine

and the charms of someone, dear,
who I would like to call "Valentine"

la vie en la rose
this red stains lips pink and
I see in pink, everything around me

as I dip my nose to my wrists, inhaling

Sicilian oranges, Calabrian bergamo
Indonesian patchouli, Haitian vetiver
Bourbon vanilla andd white musk

I giggle coquettishly and I am blushing,

For these sweet nothings
mean very much to me

Floating brazier spews electric amber waves
as a setting sun radiates on the ceiling
a shadow of a ship coquettishly sways
while in the center charybdis begins swilling

another message, another missed call
another debt collector and his esurient talk
watch the ship begin to swirl, this scene so banal
amber feathered tawny eyed peacock

continues furtively to scroll her story and shoe shop
crowded room with a panel onstage
reality and fantasy evaporate and fall as a single raindrop
drown in the muck, don't know how to disengage

and to stay in the sway of fantasy.

She looks at me, puts

coquettishly in her eyes --


her whole soul again.

Thou shalt follow me,
Be with me 'til eternity,
Turn into someone I want you to be,
With my decree thou shalt obey me 

Thou shalt be envious,
Like a culprit get what you want to use,
Live with thy desire,
Happiness of others you should acquire

Thou shalt be gluttonous,
Like a pig go and be voracious,
Satisfy your hunger and rapturous cravings,
Drinking and eating what you want is never sating

Thou shalt live with lust,
Like a tigress in bed you must,
Embrace the desire you have within,
Coquettishly caress and savour someone's skin

Thou shalt be wrathful,
Like darkness let it manifest your soul,
Hatred shalt flow violently in your blood,
With thy anger sins shalt flood,

Thou shalt live with thy pride,
Never ever let thyself subside,
Walk with your pretty cruel soul conceited,
Shalt not let thyself be defeated

Thou shalt be greedy,
Like me love thy life acquisitively,
Have the excessive desire to take what you don't need,
Earn what you want no matter if you exceed

Thou shalt live like a sloth,
Do nothing just lay at your couch,
Survive like a narcoleptic man,
Just sit down and hope that something will be done

What did the poet say?
Success is counted sweetest by those who ne’er succeed,
Yet such a sentiment is wrong, deeply and distressingly so,
For the nectar of success proves most enticing
To those whom Dame Fortune
Has coquettishly extended her index finger
And, twirling it ever so slightly in the air,
Has let him taste (for the briefest of moments, mind you) the tip,
A momentary sensation in the merest fragment of time,
But the sweetness, the utterly transcendent joy
Contained in that single frame in the long movie of one’s life,
Becomes not a cherished memory
But an unfathomable grail which engulfs all other desire,
Supplanting any semblance of prudence or reason
Until its recipient is no more than a small boy
Who, forsaking all other toys, hurdles bicycles and baseball bats
In the absurd pursuit of a runaway kite
Which has wholly bewitched him
By the alluring pull of the string,
The mad and joyous dance against an endless field of blue.

Sickening slime of men—who are you who hath cast the first stone?
Samson and Delilah—Did I ask that you cut your hair?
Nay, I asked for the briefest of moments that two held together
Against their breast, shared between twin ribcages and
Softly sleeping slumbering, tucked between the covers.
‘twere as if the man had left the moon and she
With her soul song’s sobbing, took up against the rising darkness
Wielding a terrible light in hand.  
As now, I am.

A great darkness this is, that she finds herself in.
And doubling doubts of mischief calling, the sun
Makes known his truest searchings—for that fair woman
Whom the night doth embrace in a starlit cloak of exorbitant splendor.
But coquettishly she shies away—for the sun shall never be the moon--
And the rays of light are all too revealing of the crevices and craters
That pick their ways across her surface like clouds peppering a perfect
Sunset.

One day the winds shall blow my way,
To the light, the light they always tried to explain,
to the feeling, the feeling we always resembled to that nothing we never touched.
To be possessed by the ways of nature, oh so beautifully uncontrolled, or what the Tao call "self so".

Our hearts beat "self so"
The winds blow "self so"
The female cats walk ever so coquettishly as they squint there eyes towards the sun light, "self so".

I am heart-poundingly prepared
to dislodge from my memory,
the most fantastic moments of my day:
I swept back and forth, in between, and under,
dancing with seconds passing.
I waltzed airs of conversation into perking, prominent, eager ears.
I fell through warps of time that
pulled me from one place to a second,
which was very far off from the former.  
I felt my legs gasp and tug through each movement:
simplistic and fluid.

When rest came to me,
I thought deeply and heavily of a clear, figure:
audacious, ambitious, lean, and steadfast;
with words like sighs of peaceful content - breathy and whole;
laughter like an echoing crash cymbal - bright and robust.  

I feel sweet, with soaking bliss and broad, smile-stained cheeks!

Moment after bursting moment, I felt effusive fervor.
My hands felt hardy,
and ready,
and gripping.  
Stirring from my seat,
thighs heave,
holding sturdy body strong,
I walked wide and open into the night air.
The stars were flecked, yet flourishing.
What was left of the sun was a pink bashful streak,
coquettishly hiding behind clouds that stretched to the horizon.

*I feel whole and absolute!

I expected the spaces left to shrink
I thought my body'd forget your square shape
I hoped my holed heart wouldn't be left agape
Boldly naive, a baby dressed in pink
I hate you for leaving me stuck to think
You were the only one here not an ape
I don't want to patch my canyon with tape
But no choice I have, you left in a blink
Now, it's my duty to bat my lashes
First to mop the crystal geyser of tears
Secondly, coquettishly-over to him
Who he is matters not, only passion.
Hotel? Motel? I'm sick of these affairs.
Alone, I must remain-with him in Grimm.

my favorite girl is honeycombed
a heart of bitter jelly locked
the ants crawl but dissipate
amidst, i blush coquettishly
i am her prince, blue and fond
stranded in abundance of wild grass
somewhere in Texas
my throat is dry and my mouth lingers
on the sunflower seeds i spit aimlessly
into the dirt
Waiting for seedlings to crawl, a spurt of
"this love will grow someday"
i can taste the spit of the tongue
that knows my name by heart
and wouldn't have it any other way
no i wouldn't have it any other way

The cool sun pales away in bright orange
The black cat strolls coquettishly on the concrete landing of the back of the Chinese restaurant
Contemplating which wall or galvanized roof she will grace next
Despite instinctively sticking to the same walls and roofs as times prior.
Me, a hated cliche at 28
Aimless, quarter-life crisis, millennial
The taste of mediocrity meanders in my mouth.
Guilt blocks and presses it's way into my ears and nostrils.
Funny isn't it?
That guilt begets guilt.
My ears couldn't hear my friend is dying
She smells so beautifully
I couldn't sense it.
Death.
Brevity.

Here I reek of indecision.
Feelings of grandeur, self importance, entitlement.
No action, just a meditation.

He noticed her as soon as she glided purposefully, yet gracefully, in to the centre of the extravagant feast, her elegant wrists and ankles adorned with tinkling bells and colourful ribbons, her vivid costume embroidered with decorative beads, sequins and coins.

The men were gorging on the remains of the sheep’s head which had been slaughtered, as was the custom, to celebrate the successful return of the sheikh from his latest raiding expedition.  The silver trays laden with sumptuous dates, grapes, almonds and watermelons.  The camel hair tent covered with exotic, lavish furs to keep the bracing desert winds at bay.

The desert dweller was hosting important guests from a nearby clan, keenly trading news and enthusiastically discussing the breeding of his famed Arabic stallion.  Yet his conversation ceased mid-flow, the words left hanging in the air, enthralled and captivated from his first glance of her.  Her elegant ****** features, high cheek bones, blood red luscious lips, and jet black hair, she was striking to all who gazed upon her.

"I must have her" he muttered under his breath, even as his four wives and six concubines were waiting in the wings to pander to his every need, anticipating which one would receive his undivided attention tonight.  However, they all paled into insignificance next to this manna from heaven, this visceral feast upon the senses.  Though this did not pass unnoticed under the watchful scornful eyes of wife number one.

The haunting Arabic music began.  The opulent dancer moved slowly at first interpreting her emotive gestures to the sound of the three-string rebab, coyly, coquettishly, teasingly.  Yet, she was anything but coy.  You could sense her wildness, her passion, her animalistic instincts simmering under the surface. She was untamed, and determined to remain so, yet aware of her allure on the hot blooded males.

The Bedouin stared at her, could not take his eyes off her, just as she captivated them all with her beguiling beauty while weaving her magic throughout the room.  All but one that is.

The mesmerising melody picked up, her hips shimmying to the Badawi beat, skirt tassels swirling, slender arms accentuating evocative gestures, creating sensuous shapes, texture and depth to the melodic mystery unfolding before them.

As the music paused so did she, directly in front of him as he reclined on the cushions, defiantly, passionately staring straight into his eyes, as she grabbed his just refilled wine goblet.  He watched the droplets enticingly trickle down her exquisitely defined chin as she devoured it in one, and ached to kiss those ruby red lips.

And with that she was off again, twirling and swirling, twisting and circling, tossing her head in synch with the frenzied beat, holding the whole room in the hypnotic palm of her hand.  The stirring rhythm rose to a crescendo and so did she, spinning mesmerisingly round and round, heart thumping, wild eyes blazing, and as the last beat of the darbuka sounded and faded away, she paused one last time, and so did the breath of everyone present, enchanted as they were with her captivating spellbinding performance.  Only he noticed the fear in her eyes, the pallor of her skin, the tiny beads of sweat above her top lip, as she slid silently yet elegantly to the floor.  Everyone was on their feet, applauding madly, demanding an encore, while he rushed over and held her in his muscular arms.  "My love" he whispered, passionately kissing her and thanking her for that all too fleeting moment of pleasure, ecstasy and bliss.  Too late.  Her last precious breath ebbed away from her forever.  Unknowingly, unwittingly, her life for his life with that one innocent sip of wine.

He was incensed.  His unfulfilled lust transformed into outright fury and rage.  His animated roar "I will find you, whoever you are and avenge her.  An eye for an eye.  You will not rest easy in your bed until you have a dagger through your heart" ringing in the perpetrator's ears as she, hidden in the shadows, slinked away silently into the cold dark night.

A week shy of eighteen months
constitutes the difference in age gap
between yours truly
(me - no longer that lithe lad,
with washboard stomach and narrow waist,
and the Herrin, a once slender sylph
at then one hundred and five pounds -
ideal for her towering
four foot eleven inch frame)
born July 6th, 1960
within the environs
of Philadelphia,* Pennsylvania
*derived from the Ancient
Greek terms φίλος phílos (beloved, dear)
and ἀδελφός adelphós (brother, brotherly).

Our initial encounter (of the third kind)
took place circa nineteen ninety four
on a warm summer evening
at Summit Presbyterian Church
6757 Greene Street, Philadelphia, PA 19119
and about two years later
both of us fêted as groom and bride
by fellow contra dancers.

Gamophobia (a fear of commitment
or fear of flying into marriage)
scared the bejesus out of yours truly
upon being asked point blank,
countless times soon after we dated,
and soon shared the same sleeping space,
(no matter we both lived with our parents),
which salient question
impossible mission to answer
"I do" after being asked

about pledging my troth - no fallacy -
promising such lifetime allegiance
subsequently pricked psyche
with heady undo anguished suffering,
yet verily barely hindered me,
to spear my stiff little minuteman
into miniature portcullis,
and hence expressed nonverbal predilection
to be fruitful and multiply
courtesy seething hormonal secretions,

she tacitly assented also
to experience concupiscence
and taste figurative verboten fruit
for consensual ****** intimacy
initially found me coquettishly flirting
daring to let fingers do the walking
across erogenous zones
easily gravitating toward physical intimacy
cavalierly riding *******,
throwing caution to the wind

hence no surprise
when the then girlfriend
******* pregnant news
about a bun in the oven
and intimated she objected
to birthing an offspring out of wedlock,
thus we concurred to pledge our troth
courtesy Judge Henry J. Schireson
of Narberth, Pennsylvania.

Upon our (yours truly and his missus)
exchanging holy matrimony vows
July twenty fifth nineteen ninety four
(another poem for that occasion)
ultrasound allowed, enabled
and provided obstetrician to zoom,
image courtesy sonogram
showing fledgling fetus,
thus we pledged our troth

after spouses' womb
(approximately halfway
between her pregnancy) did balloon
******, wherein conception
delineated birth of eldest daughter
five months later, and many a tomb
morrow later she then
when these words first drafted
resided in Oakland, California.

I attempted reasonable rhyme about...
oh happy yesteryear
when newly minted groom (me) wed bride
family in attendance cried
as Justice of Peace officiated as legal guide
extolling pregnancy of she who could not hide
welcomed into the pudding club,
which matured inside
after two gametes fused and multiplied
countless times after nine months
quickly birthing embryo
baby on the way nullified
application of premarital ***,
and attendant use of contraceptives.

Clear out of the blue
thee wife asked me
opinion if wedded bliss between us,
cuz I never profusely expressed affection
no matter head over heels
puppy love found found the missus
analogous to dizzy dame gone cuckoo
until completion of third trimester –
28 to 40 weeks signalled parturition due
ha, how heretical to think

swearing off copulation altogether,
and decry repeating the experience of childbirth,
nevertheless spouse warmed up
to begetting a second progeny
upon beholding beautiful bundle of joy
receptivity to estrus did ensue
since romance long since flew
out the figurative window
impossible mission to feign significant other
analogous to brand new
alluring, beguiling, captivating... tchotchke.

All kibitizing aside, a requited love with zeal,
I attest invisible spokes supported unseen wheel
when turning sparking genuine care and concern
delivering selflessness with role of motherhood
acted as buffer against emotional hemorrhage
and received good housekeeping approval seal
more applicable to most recent
elapsed wedding day anniversaries
ex post facto after both daughters flew the coop
finding me reeling with empty nest syndrome,
whenever yours truly reviews mental newsreel,
now absence of offspring, akin
to psychological wound I did heal
no longer mourning natural course
of begetting progeny more readily
accepting their necessary autonomy doth appeal.

Though marriage in our golden years finds us celibate
devoid of that indomitable physical intimacy
with once fecund wife
both she and I get along swimmingly,
we exhibit less strife
than days of yore effulgence promulgated
to all readers unbeknownst to human life
form characterized by bloke,
whose words appeared across screen
exemplifying, embodying, and edifying
regarding beloved simian counterpart
bandying playfully sometimes
drubbing and drumming my body
while she deliberates
fluted helmeted jiggly Johnson
emulating sounds of skin tight fife.

Once upon a time yours truly did allow
himself to consume anything in sight
eats of mine in the mein
included an assortment of chow.

Impossible firm me
(read my bookish self
a schlepping schlemiel,
with schmaltz and chutzpah
stationed at Highland Manor
in Schwenksville, Pennsylvania)
to compete with Adonis,
no way no chance
asthma gut busts over
waistband of sweatpants,
the choice couture,

asper this poet, who kant's
cease spewing regularly
(quotidian) raves and rants
years ago (another lifetime),
I partook of contra dance
(the most fun one can experience
while being clothed)
sing, (and most casual suitable
place to find romance)
plus burn calories matter of fact,
a milieu to buff and enhance

physique, while simultaneously
kibitizing with great expanse
of pleasant gals and guys
one must not be afraid to prance,
(albeit in accordance
with a caller on stage,
and maintain endurance)
synonymous with aerobic exercise,
and also women act flirtatiously
coquettishly, and amorously glance
sing and/or stealing a French fried

kiss, yup dashing all
the way out to France,
yet returning just in time
and adopting being proper,
or improper instance
all the while sustaining
the energetic activity over expanse
of a few hours (traditionally
held on Thursday evenings)
and for that block
of time held in a trance,

asper...analogous to
spellbinding arrow or lance
suspended part way thru flight,
cuz all troubles
temporarily melt away
which venue mentioned,
which small number
of bucks one did pay
to participate among
mine weekly highpoint,
where life liberty,

and pursuit of happiness
which place this then akin to a cray
zee lee whirling dervish, did pine
to spruced himself up,
and ready to hay
for four (analogous to two couples
tracing a figure eight
on the floor with their feet),
thus sped without delay
this bag of lovely bones hapt tubby
more more trim, unlike

less physically fit body of today
and scant finances find me
foregoing joyfully
listening to musicians play
and healthily exhausted
with closing waltz,
thence out tummy car,
yours truly did sashay
and promenade over the rainbow
acquiring spouse worth
more than fine spun gold,

cuzI met me beloved spouse,
(and biological mother
of me now deux grown daughters)
at Summit Presbyterian Church
6757 Greene Street, Philadelphia,
Pennsylvania 19119
almost three decades ago,
where we did precariously
balance and swing and gypsy
while tenuously tethered
to a ladies chain.

“Love is always shaded
In vanity”, you said,
“At least, all my lovers
Have been vain
Pleasing me
Pleasing me
But in the end
Unconcerned about
Really touching me
That’s not to say
I’m not flattered by
Empty Romantic gestures
I am
But I don’t want to be
Wooed by some
Accepted idea
I just want to know
If two people
Can
Really
Connect
Or if eternal
Loneliness
Is our lot”
And then you looked up
Inquiringly
Coquettishly
Your eyes sparkling
Across the table
Past the candles
Past the wine glasses
Past the single red red rose
Past my lies
Past my gaze
Towards the tumbling
Infinite darkness
Of the night