If I had to do it all again, I wouldn’t change a thing. Let’s be honest, the prize is in the challenge. If every day there were strolls under the soft moonlight, intimate dancing under the stars and canoeing across the lake, what is there…

I come to you weary, broken, helpless You carry me You heal me Like an old growth forest With it’s mossy carpet Silent wisdom Washing over me Your Love My refuge

salt seeps onto my tongue as i bite my lip– playfully, knowingly– your eyes on me (mine did not miss them) but it’s your lips i’m watching as my mind draws them to mine; i can see your hands in my hair, feel the roughness…

Sorry guys forgot one key fact the Marathon is ET and I live in CT.  No problem catching up now.  🙂   It is a very gray area to drown and not know yet.  Social unrest keeps me fighting to reach the top.  How can…

We have seen all the same things, But none have looked similar, For here am I now, Half out of my mind With hideous things like grief and longing, And you sit there as if yesterday Is good enough for tomorrow.   I will go…

We sit quietly Under the soft moonlight Giddy and blushing Like teenagers in puppy love Rushing through my body are feelings Of anxiety, excitement and passion untamed and exchanged through our fiery glances We can’t deny the lust While you caress my inner thigh I feel your wandering…

I’ll come late to take you to that frozen lake by the way of circumstance…clouds will part like one last chance. We will dance with arrows beating through our sullen hearts: expose our secrets in a snow-still twilight proving that love is laid bare. Soul-struck…

Good morning To be honest My head is underwater It always is when I write Like I am swimming Drowning in thoughts Using the breast stroke To maneuver through Massive amounts of momentum Not my treasure island More like soft moonlight After hours A night…

I look around the globe Looking for love That I long A love that no end points   I didn’t found it From this people bit Nor idiot’s lip Or crown to deep I walk from one place to another Looking for a stranger Who…

—–THE TONGUE OF THE CALABASH—– The clock chimes six o’clock As I sit in red palms Under a village hut unlocked As the palm wine is sipped in dots From my empty belly stock To make their feet spread the dust I leave indelible sounds…