She sits alone with two antique clocks
one of water, the other of sand
I dare ask if she likes watches
Only the older, she replies,
they hold the infinity of time specious
In her words an elemental charm
and the risk of all enigmas
Then in contralto voice she adds
and now my name is simply K
and I think of Kafka's leopards
breaking into the temple to drink
from the sacrificial amphorae
My soul writes in ancient dialect
feeling hers close with mine
while I watch her body
from eternity in ****** key
a window of flavoured amethyst fire
progressive surrender
the crossing of a desert
the dropping of clothes and masks
the thin veil remains yet unbreached
the original time of the first blood
still under the anvil of desire
so rarely given the offer of this grace
the membrane of the soul to be loved
with pain, with pleasure, with totality

Lovely's she,
Who shuns the shrewd pursuer.

Whose heart's unbreached,
By he who heaves in reaching.

And I am cursed,
Of this of coarse,
That my heart laments to leave her.

For this I must,
Commit because,
She shuns the shrewd pursuer.

A love that hurts
A love that aches
A love that swells with dreams and plans
An end unknown, but hearts eternally bound
Rolling hills
Summer breeze
A love so deep it hurts to leave
Freedom in your eyes
Freedom in your speech
Freedom in our hearts and bonds unbreached

What ails you, o youthful soul ?
An indelible writ, some trecherous dole?
The delusion, that is fate's generous design;
Or, some disowned yearning, you repine?
There, in the depths of the unseen
Athwart the moist groves, lush and green
With mirth flows the meandering brook,
Glistening with myriad shades, forbear, look ...
Here is an ethereal solace bestowed,
Unbreached by woes, is this tranquill abode.
In this serene woods, unspoken and kind
Abounds, what you desperately seek to find;
A moment's succor, a touch of the divine...

And what grieves you, frail, senescent being
The gloomy dusk, past the bountiful spring?
Mayhaps, the meagre share of ill-spent time,
Some futile persuits, worth not a dime...
There in the glades, the pansies bloom,
Gleeful, sans a hint of imminent doom,
Come summer; when spring shall fade
Those gay petals shall wither, ashen and dead
And yet they bloom, though death is nigh
The unassailable fate; do they ruefully deny?
The wherefores of being, who can wholly discern?
Well, dust we were and to dust shall turn...
In earth and clay shall our being, to eternity sublime.

slowely caressing souls
on a voyage to understand you.
with each healing intent,
i intend to fix something i have broken.
to reach through the breached breaks
affixing each fixes until i walk upon the unbreached wall in your heart where is home,
but to enter welcomed.
a place where they speak my name with gentle loving lips.