Interlude

In this dream I turn to you and

light my cigarette from the glowing

tip of yours.

I propose we fly away.

Your dark eyes whip my mind

into arousal and your elegant hand

on my thigh turns me soft inside.

Your breathing is a sigh against

my ear that whispers my hair

and crimson lips so near devours

your resistance.

Against waves of joy and sadness

dreams are always what it could

be like.

Suddenly hares chase foxes

and Roebucks hunt hunters and

to shield me from the terror you

hold me within bleak arms.

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I Still Feel You

I feel you

at the razor edge of madness

in the fierce break of waves along

the sea line

a half moon fading at dawn

in shifting shadows of endings.

I feel you in the sweet froth

and flow of memory.

In dark eyes that catch mine in

musty corridors of dreams

I see you

in the wild of wolves

the vigil of birds at my midnight window.

I sense you in sacred passages

where like phantoms we are lost.

art by Karol Bak

Karol Bak kneeling

Night LIfe

From my  window  a sliver of  moon casts a haze over the water. I can hear the  rush of soft waves. Those  creatures beneath the depths,  do they sleep,  dream?  If  parted do they grieve?  Down the street  I can see  the lights from  an all night store. A man waits behind the counter.  Cautiously he  slips his hand under his jacket and takes a long swig from a  bottle.   A group of young thugs gather outside the storefront.   I imagine them  harming the storekeeper.  Distracted by the young whore taking shelter in a doorway they laugh and whisper. Oblivious to her vulnerability she sleeps as though she has never heard of  birds of prey that swoop down with jagged talons hungry for butchery.   I watch intently  in case I need to call out a warning  but losing interest they disappear into the dark.
Maybe nothing is real. Maybe   everything I see and hear is an illusion.   I lose focus on the  outside world and the burn of you stings relentlessly just below the surface.   I want to sleep forever, not give a damn about you.

 

The Deceit of White Oleander

Winter mists the window panes
with veiny tributaries that trickle
to the sill with a warm touch.
The trajectory of time trails run  off
down the mountain side an affirmation
of spring the honey-sweet deceit  of
white Oleander.
Remain here until the birds sing
our disparity, till reality overshadows
dreams and tears and dew drops blend.
Then we will part.

 

 

Image result for Painting of a beautiful woman with a pink Oleander

Art by Rae Williams at Pinterest

The Moon and Trees

Beyond the terrace
I pace barefoot through
the garden past the blurred
flowers that bend their petals
as though they know me.
Brilliant in the starlight
the old tree stands apart
as if  having outgrown the
rest it needs space.
It sighs to the song of a breeze
limbs reaching to the sky.
I wonder if it has eyes
to hold such history.
I feel it is friends
with the moon
I  hear them laughing at us.

 

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when you go

When you leave I become

the sea gull begging salt from

from the briny air.

My veins are a winding tunnel

Of deep purple sea.

I channel you in the night owl’s

perpetual call  that  awakens the

Subconscious to the feel of

your phantom hand at the angle of my
hips.

At dawn your shirt hangs from a

Closet door in the buttery sunlight

and I become so small I could slip

inside the lining of your chest

sheltered by your warm skin where I

long to be.

 

 

art by Anuraag

 

 

woman waiting

Lips wet with mist,  the breeze of a kiss,

water grass sweeping through diaphanous dreams.

The strains of  a sonata stream,

rivers of veins filled with bloods wildness

a song  blue playing with fire.

Tongues of lovers burn with allegory

celestial walls of silence.

Hear the firewood snap and hiss

the burning heat of need.

Has her awakening come to late?

chinese girl

Art by Liu

 

Unbeknownst to me this poem was picked up in October  and published at Bon Bon Lifestyle Webazine. Thank you  Bon Bon Lifestyle, and thank you Jonathan for letting me know.

woman waiting — House of Heart

 

 

 

 

 

Windscape

Let me be the  summer sun
who shines for you without expectation.
A  rhythmic  breeze that shapes soft
passages where you travel uncertainty.
Let a  herald of archangels fill your
your heart with unworldly treasure.
I will be  your blood moon,
the swell and pull of tides  that
draw you near.
Ascend with me on a windscape
strung of stars  far from
the world below.

 

in my favorite dream

I walk beside you on snow swept sidewalks shivering from too much life.  Your fingers wrap around mine as my hand clings to your shoulder shielding me from the chaos of rushing traffic.  Snuggled against you I am captivated by your impossibly sexy voice discussing note worthy events that fill your day.   Surreptitiously my mind slips away to desirous play where you sip honey from my swollen lips releasing urgent butterflies from my rib cage. At our favorite café you order tea,  for me,  hot cocoa brimming with frothy cream that  your eager lips flick from mine.  In this realm all cares  cease to exist past  the prism of our window where  in the soft glow  snow flakes dissolve into a light drizzle and we softly fade into  a parallel world of lovers.