For me,
men are not romantic--
The way I love a woman is
so much less traumatic
than what straight girls
intend to endure--
Being lead on is common, I’m sure--
And she never fooled me,
She never used me,
Never did her silence spur anxiety--
I eagerly guided her fingers
inside of me- Where
Boys would lean above you, ***** in power, see- there
Hurt you as they *******, and always them to please--
Dear, your pleasure is mine and
you’re the cause of mine and
I know you’ll treat me different; Better
than what I thought could be fine.
I’ll make you finish and upon me
you’ll dine.
Women-love-women love is superior,
sublime.

Sometimes I feel,
As if I’m lost.
Perhaps — I could,
Live under innocent white and blue skies,
Adoring pink fescues and red saccharum,
and
tangerine sunsets that
careen lavender and ivory,
aroma candied
arousing the birds, but rather
I am
Mending memories within the black nimbuses
within my cerebrum
Attempting to occlude unhappiness
But with the zephyr
The castle walls drop
The crows intrude, and ignorance floods
Now
I am drowning,
Grasping onto torched remnants of
A people that I once enjoyed,
Until their eyes were forced shut
from the stinging salts
and their words became
as venomous as mambas.

Squally weather evolves into 'Life's Saccharum Wine' , dripping from grateful leaves and every vine
Seasoned with tangy , Foothill tree and honey- flower alike
Forest patrons cull their mouths with all their might , a parched countryside becoming drunk with delight
To partake in natures vintage from blessed Earthen cask this
rain cooled September night

exaltation
sugar maple
ignited by slanting
rays of autumn sunlight
ember stars
cast upward in
static eruption
against expansive
steel blue sky
my five o'clock prayer
holy moment in
thronging traffic
et exultavit
anima mea
in autumn trees
acer saccharum
god's haphazard generosity
on an insipid
october afternoon