Their eyes meet, for the first time.
Eons of memories flash.
Ancient keys open past love and lust.
How now, why now?
Star crossed? Chance meeting?
Fates in play?
Broken hearts so in need of mending?
Then the awkwardness.
When she looks at me, who does she see?
Am I what he'd imagined?
More, or less?
And then, an embrace.
Finally, flesh upon flesh and another key unlocks a door.
Her scent, his scent,
small talk to lubricate the moment.
Unaware, she looks for a sign,
a subtle grin or tilt of the head,
a gesture, or a reaction.
He waits for the moment, the space in the nervous conversation to steal a kiss.
A kiss that will change everything.
A kiss that says, I love you, you are wonderful.
You are more than I could ever have imagined.
And then it happens, in the kiss,
the hormonal attraction, the innate key to the next door.
He takes her in with a breath, and the sanity begins.
It is as if they've plugged into each other, completing an electrical circuit.
Sparks fly, traveling down her body.
Here and now in this dream-state
one looses all reasoning,
decisions are not made.
Plans are not executed.
Outcomes are abandoned.
Do you want to go somewhere, so we can be alone?
You don't remember answering yes.
Holding hands,
pure adrenaline takes you up the stairs to a new room,
with new keys..............

Why are many great poets tortured and tormented?
I'm only distorted by the pain many poets feel.
I'll never be a great poet, thank God!
But, poets, I love your words.
I love you.
Please find a way to love yoursevles!
I weep for the pain you feel.
If I could make you smile,
I would be a happy, average at best, poet.

Even the best mothers muddle
Some are just more subtle
Than the others who stew up
Emotional storms with every cup
Of tea they poor and sip
Not a loving word drips from the lip
How dare they conceive
There are those who believe
There should be a test
To have the job that's the best
My mother McNaughton
Has never forgotten
What it means
To love all fourteen
Of her tumultuous brood
For she is shrewd
And knows what it takes to be
For she is keen to see
A muddling mother
Must be an advocate lover
No matter what
A kiss or a kick in the ****
To let her children know
Which way they should go
The is no need for insurrection
Or for the pursuit of perfection
Just love and cuddle
It is okay mother to muddle

Some find God in church.
My pew has wheels and holy
Sweat. I cleanse my soul.