tonight there is no room,
no bed for soft heads to converse,
with knobbly knees bent out
in soft chattering--

from cold? hardly.

dawn mimics a dove,
with her white limbs,
off-plummage,
driven to some point
that has faded to your crescent brow.

tomorrow the siege will pull
at your echoing streets,
splitting hair strings off end
until you find earthen creatures
tugging at the hem,

at the toilet,
swallowing their hollow drums,

counting a mistress' scarlet nails
and her emerald brooch.

tonight i am quiet
with a bed.

Her energy is amorously wavering
and clad in frail courage

She is bent over me
as I lay waking in the moonless warm night

I am returning through
the confused gateway of the dreamworld
where visions of another world seize
my mind with addlings
of nonsense and responsibility.

My eyes open to
   skin gleaming
        in the perfect starlight
            and flowing hair
                framing soft cheeks
                     and crystalline eyes

She is slowly and carefully drawing her hand across my ear
gliding through the wheat fields like a whispering wind

she grasps firmly the nape of my neck with a timid hand

Yet...
within it,
a guiding intention
I dare not effect.

She lowers her head to nuzzle her nose against mine
her hair veils us both in a canopy of golden strands
as she moves ever closer to
the portal of my breath
the sinuous treasures
tickle my neck and cheek
sublime and demure, her lips slide across mine
a momentary grace before the hesitation
pulls her back
                          
inches from my face

            I feel the cool wind of her life draw in
                             the fluttering I feel
                   is the gentle quaking of her lips

we dance
as our lips explore
the fragile mirror in the other.

Our breath escapes from the corners
where we have yet to embrace one another

as time stretches, so too the space between

what was inches feels like miles
as the ocean of energy ebbs and pulls within

with an effort that is palpable
she dives deep into the dark cove of my mouth

lips, firm and bubbly, greet a mouth inviting
tongues crash, thick and moist

all her nervous hesitation vanishes in an instant
like an explosion of Monarch butterflies... She is
All passion and delight,
I feel her unspoken love behind all her longing and affection.

her kiss is home to me
her lips are the smooth marble floor
that dissolves in to a bed of plummage where I lay my soul to rest.
It is my being, simple and supple, that transforms them to
naught but softness.

so magnificent, that first kiss
so fleeting her bouncing firm-smooth lips  
I doubt I will ever feel anything as vibrantly
unique in this world.

The threshold of our home has been crossed
what was hard and piqued with anticipation
is now soft forevermore

i will never forget that alabaster kiss.

a hoopoe flew to  silhoutte
with  snail or such lark..
pivotted a proud head
a grin like a wise  monarch..

it´ s variegated plummage
blackened by twilight´
sigh..
side to side it´ s mischievous
eye..!

and all a rush now away
up and away!
savoured it´ s catch at
the end of the day..

home to it´s roost
in a flurry of detailed
be-
the swallow and hushed
agave..

It's January's fog mirroring all but a murky city;
The sparkling splendour of the day is at rest,
And a dove, lonesome, writhes in the hot gelidity.

The leaves are papers in a file on the glass;
Its plummage shake them, but they remould;
For an asylum it steals under the bench alas!

Who knows it's the poorest in the glacial garden,
And survival is a fierce combat for such haggard
Birds, and solitude, too, stacks sadness, and broken

Morale melts, and a wish for an early death is said;
Oh, I can't serve it with blanket-help, it would skim away,
And sympathy is cipher until fear of harm is dead.

the cardinal is a lovely bird with his plummage red
he looks rather odd with a crest up on his head
they say he is a messenger from the lord  above
represents  the departed  of someone you really love

trying to contact you or so the story goes
wether it is true no on really knows
if he flies in to your window death is on the way
is this a myth or something people say

we may never know if the stories true
where or when the cardinal will come to visit you
is this just a story from many years ago
or is it really true will we ever know

I wanted the world to know
about us while we fly
through
the places the world can show
and wonders hidden in sight

Birds of a similar plummage
take flight ever so jointly
however
A crow's hide differs to a sage
yet both saw past it blindly

I wanted to take you to parts
thats a mystery to your mind
but
Your comfort was with your art
to stay in a zone, while in fear

My patience for you is long
but even it will be consumed
because
Im a free bird and wanted to explore
while you wanted to stay: I got bored

So I told you Id take flight
and let you be in your comfort
You wanted me stay
but
I dont want to be grounded since the day I learned to fly

So I flew.. alone