i love you,
fresh from
the shower.
glistening and wet,
smelling of aftershave.
"coolwater" by davidoff.  often aslo sandlewood,
goat soap, from the local
farmers markets.

i love you,
dressed up smart.
in a brook's brother's way
dress pants and shirt,
blue linen vest.
johnny walker silk bow tie,
untied is best. then your twist,
(not as original as you think)
converse skaties, no socks
and  bone bleached cuffs,
turned up.

i love you,
in your work gear.
just come home,
you smell of sweat.  
clean and healthy,
always wood shavings
caught up, in your
unruly shaggy hair.
cargo shorts and
t-shirts,
that have seen,
many days of worksite wear.
size elevens in your hands,
those big feet and freaky toes
bare, ******* in the air.

i love you,
in board shorts and rashie.
rushing into the surf,
hand in hand.
with the energetic bundle
of love,
to which we gave birth.

it is not as though,
clothes made this man,
but boyohboy, you, frame them well.

it s the heart, the chuckle
the hands, the philosphy,
the clever, erudite, caveman,
the downright,
man-dumb bloke.
that endears, your heart to
mine.

it is, that you really listen
and take the time,
to make me feel and be,
phenomenal, wise, sensual
and beautiful beside.

i love you,
best, in my bed.
moving slow and sure,
undressed, silk and velvet.
as we express,
the reality of our love
and whisper words,
well known,
and cry to heaven above.

i love you,
then, here, now and eons
on.
even after the worlds
memory of us,
is  nothing,
dust upon the breeze
our love,
will carry, forth
stardust on heaven's winds
and cries of our love and ecstasy
will birth worlds anew

there are some things,
that just smell so good:
corn freshly shucked, potatoes roasted in campfire coals, carrots fresh from the ground, then washed   and stovetop roasted
basted with butter
and lavender honey.

the nape of my toddlers neck,
that clean fresh hopeful little boy smell.
coffee, straight up, freshly brewed
caramel warming,

passionfruit, strawberries, citrus any type, zested. freshly planed fennel curls, mint crushed for a mojito, roast lamb and rosemary gravy.

the smell of planed wood in the palms of my man's hands as i kiss them. frangipani, coconut tanning oil,
earth newly rained upon. popcorn popping, chocolate melting,
jasmine, orange blossoms,
a grove of pine trees.
warm gingerbread and mulled wine.

salt tang on the morning breeze.
the smell that lingers after the lovin.
garlic and ginger in a hot wok.
salt tang on the evening breeze.
prawns all sea salty and
a crisp cold beer.

sandlewood and citrus aftershave lotion on your smoothed cheek.

nectarines, apricots,
a yellow juicy peach,
freshly bitten.

apple scented shampoo daphne & lilac my nana's smell,
bay *** newspaper print and palmolive soap,
my pop's study.

rose petals crushed.
earl grey tea,
toast just before burning damper and cocky's joy
crisp fresh linen warm from the sun.

so many scents, so many smells...
these are my favourites please feel free to add your's, as long as it's clean
and above board.

five pebbles
stacked on bottom step
circled with chalk of blue
culminating in an arrow
pointing toward the back yard

four pebbles stacked in the driveway
sitting on a piece of sandlewood
sharpened to a point
indicating a pathway to the back yard

at the corner of the house
three pebbles wrapped in wire
stung together, hanging off the
battered surfboard ...arced toward
the backyard

in the middle of the vege patch
a table upon which
two stacked pebbles sit
table set for breakfast
chairs with cushions
an invitation to sit

one god boy, coming with tray
from kitchen, ever so carefully
makes his way to the table
serves pancakes and syrup
juice and coffee, fruit salad
and gives his dad a single pebble
deep brown striped with white
and a small gold spot..polished to a shine,
with a hole drilled throughand leather loop

smiles, tears and bearhugs
father's day has begun...

i kiss, the nape of your neck,
while you still sleep
and inhale you.
spearmint, sandlewood
and citrus combined
with clean sweat.
you stir and roll over,
you are healthy
and in your prime.
more than my heart stirs, more than your heart, responds.
your lips, meet my skin
for the first time,
allover again.
i am drawn...
like moth to flame .
i am before you,
barely, contained,
but your teasing,
tendril,torching, tongue
scatters me to
richochet,
without
thought or sense.
my lips seek
the curve of your
collar bone and neck
as if to feast
upon your soul.
my hand behind
your head holding,
kneeding, that spot
on the top tip of spine
that makes you growl.
our desires grow deep,
our arousal complete,
we move,
to connect our hips
in early morning,
grinding, greeting,
i quiver,
as you,
rampant,
touch my lips...
....and our son
begins to wail and sob.

we break,
with regret.... unrequieted.
i go to see to him,
you, to a cold shower.
our day begins,
with love and frustration.
but then,
there is always, the art of...
delayed gratification.....

A million sandlewood candles from
the quick checkout at Sephora
could not mask what we have
done here. Not all the *****
in the world could seize my
dripping mind, which always
seems to pour down the
drain for you and your
stupid ignorant
wild and lewd
cruel and deliberate
enchanting, invigorating—
I sit behind you in math
class and you hold
his hand.
He met me at East 79th
and fifth,
“I think she’s cheating,” he says.
“What a *****.” I say, shaking my head.

i enter,
entranced,by the aboreal entrance of the lush and
verdant place,
in which you
choose to exsist
the mist, smelling of
earl grey tea and
ginger cakes.
beckons,
me forward,
thru the curlique trees,
with lemon and limedrop
leaves
and drifting clouds of,
bright sunshine flowers.
in my wake my footprints
become little ponds with
goldfish toes.
ahead, i see you,
all shades of green
swinging,
lacksadaisically
to and fro...
in a hammock,
on a hummock,
between two aged, sandlewood trees
and in your hand,
you hold an island
of purple sand,
and polka dotted,
umbrella trees.
at your feet,
a crooked street
of pastel, pixie condo's
all curves and swerves,
with mushroom roofs
and teardrop windows.
your voice,
like that, of a finely,
strung cello
sings songs of welcome
to my jubilant heart
and i stop and think
you are a curious fellow.
i sit myself down,
with care
for the pixies fair
and soon fall asleep
to the lullaby of the aforementioned cello....
...alas when i awake
your no longer there
and i wonder if
you were,
just the aftereffects
of too much cake....


.....but wait
did i just hear
a pixie,
giggle,
a smiggle
up there,
behind my left ear.


...i so hope
              that i did....
                                don't you?

I once loved a man whose smell was like pheromones to my psyche
his scent lingered on my skin after each embrace and
after a hard days work
he still smelled like
new leather and sandlewood... and to be
buried in his chest and breathe him in
lubricated me
after sweaty freaky ***  
the only time his ***** had an aroma and even that was still not unpleasant...
Tho the romance did not last
the remembrance of my face
in that space
between his
jaw line and shoulder
lingers in the solar plexus and occasionally
makes me sigh deeply

I once TRIED to love a different man... and
I never liked the way his natural skin smelled
from the very beginning...
something about his odor
lurking under any cologne
grated my spirit...
Not one time did I ever put his shirt to my nose and
inhale deeply... because the
musk
screamed
this man is not for you...
a malodorus warning of what would
manifest... and
the *** smelled like
...ph imbalance...
had i heeded... I would have wasted
a lot less time... and
had a lot less pain
The nose tried to tell me

When I speak to me
your golden skin listens, stretching
the pigments on your face.

The words disappear after
making tears. I start reading a
name on a shrine.

Everyday the worry comes.
How to remain a human being in
the jungle of sandlewood?