"Is the time we are together worth the pain of being apart?"
A single rose you spied At the tail end of summer I promised you that I would come. I packed my bag and left my grey In trails of pallid cotton candy To take the first train out of Bedlam....
"Finding the balance the balance of syntax and symantics for the words of love.."
I am the unsent scarlet letter. Tucked somewhere between Revelations and Acts In her family bible. The one you don't subscribe to. Worn at the edges, Handwriting faded...and still looking for a stamp or a lightening bolt from the heavens....
"The romance of a simple kiss.."
And a quick pulse deepens in the sheltered arbor of a dream. And in it, I watch you sleeping in my bed. Rhythmic muscled rise and fallOf a mans soft, deep breathing. The sharp lean edge of a well defined...
"The life of a not so secret mistress.."
There could never be a Silver Bullet Quite efficient enough for the likes of Scarlett. She would have already calculated angle, trajectory and speed For the most efficient of her brontide crescendos. The reducing flame for Cadmium is grey and...
"For Francisco...never forget."
If you remember just one thing.... Remember when she spoke your name In seven different voices. Delicate as an apple blossom. As if you were not flesh and bone But starlight and a million different shades of lavender. Remember her...
"Because the dance of words can be as erotic as sex itself.."
And I rage for Tino Rangitiratanga How strange it is that I remember a line I read so very long ago. "Bees in Mykanos hum in a minor chord" And I am still here in this unsteady place of ebony...
"A foray into the world of linguistic erotica..."
I want you most when the she wolf howls a savage song of lust and longing. When thunder detonates my core Fusillades and salvos slam my weak defences. I want you most When wild and pelting rain licks and stings...
"Love in life and art"
And the sharp dark corners of winter unfold Chiaroscuro and creases and uncertain lines. He does not know me And yet I draw him My own contrived deity. His words stained His hand the plot of Anna Karinina. Not knowing...