from the nest in the eaves
of the great house,
the little bird
could see.
a sky, blue and flannel grey,
a big ball of sun,

the tips of the tree tops,
down through the branches
and trunks
down, down, to the ground.
where they are bound
to the earth,
by knotty rope roots.

she, the little bird,
could watch the people,
hustle and bustle and
sometimes, but not often dawdle, on the street.
all chirupping and chirking
away.

she could see the horses
and the carriages, going
this and that way.
the dogs that, bark as they
play

she could see all,
the neighborhood cats
as the well-fed,
basked away the day
and the mangy old stray,
hunted for rats..
yes, she kept a close eye,
on all those sneaky cats.

but, what she liked
to watch, best,
what piqued her curiousity,
as she sat on her nest.

was the interior of the bedroom, across the way.

for in there, was a fascinating sight, of
a glamourous lady who had all manner of
wonderful things,
gloves of velvet and
lace and calfskin leather,
fans of painted paper
or finely carved wood,
corsets with whalebone stays
and finest linen underwear
buttons and baubles,
trinkets and geegaws...
strings of pearls and
glittering things..
a parasol, peach-pink satin
to shade her face from sunlight.

but for all of this...
the glamourous lady
came often undone
and sat weeping
on the window seat.

the little bird who lived
in the eaves,
did not envy the lady,
who for all her things
so pretty, was unhappy.
and who so often, grieved.

for the little bird,
knew how to be
content with her lot.
with her nest of straw,
her two little eggs.
she needed no more
than that...and a
view of the street....
so she could see
all those sneaky n' sly cats

perhaps there is a lesson
just there, in that.

i am tangled up ........and caught out in the..... doodles on my writing pad ....lines of ink ....turning circles up..... on itself..... great loops of nothing...... but sloppy eternity..... rings ...and . ....sideways.... sloping eights and ......sloveny obese zeros i am... hung up .. on time ..at present ..small moments... . .....forty-five years...of.... fore-evers ..... and miniscule secondia.... just hung.. up... ....doodling.. wasting ...time
timing space....crazy paving
.....the forcourt.. of my
oodling.... idling brain.

it's a dan fogleberg sort
of day....
smooth and full of wist
as we do mundane things

full of odd jobs and kisses
in quiet moments
dusting off of yesterdays
and longings for tommorrows
fingers to fingers
and smiles promising
more....
sunshine through gentle rain
falling in love once more again
yeah it is definitely a
dan fogleberg sort of day....

the sun streams
through the curtains
in a cat sized patch

and there we find him
this connoisseur of apricity
stretched and flat
drinking of the winter day's
meager glory

tail flicking on ocassion
and one eye open..
to the possibilty
of bacon on the run.

he is now of the age,
where he needs warm
his bones ,
before he thinks of...
completing his  yoga
and cleaning down there.

so the little blucat
has become a master
at fitting his body
into any sliver or ****
of winter sun ....

and is often found dozing.
..or as elliot claims,
contemplating the depth,
and meaning of his name....

the potter,
made me whole.
the world broke me.
you, are the craftsman,
who put me back together.
it is your love,
purest gold, that holds
the broken shards in place
and makes me,
beautiful, beyond measure.
to the eyes of the beholder.

heard this morning
the bus....
best way to cook possum
skin an gut the poss'
put in an oven bag
with some wine or verjuice
and  herbs
samphire or wattercress
and roast 'im
about the same time as ya
would a chook....
comes out beautiful and tender
ya can do it with echinda too
bit they 're not as good....
bit stringy eh!

sins of omission,
are piled up
mountain high.
led to by a road,
cobbled with
pride and self gain.

and my unknowing
self plies this road,
daily, to place the
newest coins upon
the peak.

and my knowing self
sits, at it's base.
awaiting the avalanche
to fall.

would that i be,
lost for an eternity.
in the sparkle
of your eyes.

would that you be,
found for an eternity.
in the upward turn
of my lips.

would, that we be,
after said eternity.
still enrapt,
in the love
of one,
for another.

sometimes i forget
the beauty of my life
when struggling with
issues
when locked into gear
when busy is only my
morning cup and the rest of the day frantic
when weary and fatigued
my socks and shoes
i forget that there are colours beyond black, blue
and beige.

and then you come knocking
on my hearts door...with
a bunch of red,orange yellow and pink gerberers
and a goofy smile.

and i remember my soul
and the goodness within..
and i remember your soul
and the goodness within
and then i look at the world
and love the beauty,
and the tragedy too.

and i smile ......
at the potential
of the world
within all it's craziness
and me within it
within all my craziness

and i think, time to get on
with it.... no one else can

she stands out,
in the crowd.
it is not.
that she is,
taller or shorter,
or indeed,
particularly beautiful.

it is her,  "joy de vivre"
that, carefree love,
of life,
that draws your..
eye and heart.

she is,
youth and laughter,
a memory,
of kinder days
those that wear,
a sparkle and  smile ensemble.

she is,
the girl
everyone befriends.
she is,
the girl that is
dilligent
and always ends,
each day with
a thankful sigh.

she is,
grace, and  life's
dance personified.

she is,
one of many students,
but by god,
she is sublime,
as an actress.
as a student,
a bit flighty.
her grades,
a bit hazy.
but, she smiles
and the boys,
just swoon
and the girls,
well some
of them, swoon too,
the others, just follow
in her wake.

she is,
seemingly oblivious,
to this power,
and thus it grows,
mysteriously.
but her joy,
is pure
and unbroken.
so, like moths,
to the flame,
they gather about her.

tidbits of joy,
scraps of silliness,
ladles of laughter,
a micron of mutiny,
a heap of a heart, golden and true
and a pinch of perpetuity.
blend together.

and  walla!

my  baby's smile

so very large,
is the love,
in my heart.
as i look back,
across the years.

to the people,
who have touched
my being
and shared my fears.

all those days,
spent in a haze of  
laughter, life
and  tears.

all those friends,
found and lost in,
so many, different ways.

you all,
had a part in
shaping these,
my betterdays

it is only now as i write
these words.
i think how,
magnanimous,
you were, to care at all..

each and every one,
could have passed me by....
found a better friend,
merely said,
hello and goodbye.

but i am so,
utterly blessed.
that,
your heart,
saw my heart.

and we gave,
each other a chance,
to grow and fly.

some, just for a season,
some, forevermore.
all, sown into my being
all part of my very core.

and yet, there is still
time and space for more....

today i had a day
no valleys, no mountains
....just walking, across
the plains.
grass waving, gently to either side of the dusty,
not oft used track.
sometimes, a single great,
old oak,
or a stand of birch,or gum.
a pond or creek,
but mostly, grass green, through to dry, fawn.
as i walk along...
but still,
i stumble at the end of the day .
a misplaced foot,
on a tuft of  adventurous, exploring grass....
and then i look, to the endless, blue,umbrella
of the sky,
and pray, for gentle vale
or hummocky hill.
as i ,
walk this path,
of the not,so straight,
but definitely narrow.

these are the thoughts
of Clive,
the neighborhood curmudgeon...

how do i know this,
i am the imp that put them here....
in the garden, you folks
call a brain......


take this, sodding life
and it's meaningless struggle.
i set my face to this wall
and brick myself self in
to this useless stall.

the old man, Clive,
grumbled with a,
set and sour grin.

you...you're all pathetic,
thinking you can win.
death's the only victor...
over us, one
and sodding all.

and you can take,
your sodding...
flowers and cards
and sodding, casseroles too!!

there was,
one ray of sunshine
in my life
and now she is gone.

and she is not,
sodding around in another room,
or waiting for me up there.
she is not, in greener pastures
cause she was never..
an effin cow.

she is,
six footdown,
underground,
in a cheap wooden box,
making fodder,
for worms and beetles.
slowly, they are,
breakin her down.

and it will not be,
sodding fine
and time will not heal...
a heart smashed to smithereens.
a life torn asunder
**** me it's time,
for you pathetic
do-gooders...
to get ****** real....

no i am not,
a happy man,
and yes i am,
greiving the greatest loss.
and a ******, sausage
and bean casserole,
is not going to be,
making me believe,
that the world,
is a fair and just place...

don't you, worry about me.
i reckon i'll soon be,
leaving, my home
and my goods and chattels
and be recieving last rites,
farewells and a deep,dirt bed.

and that will be,
fine and dandy,
as long as it is,
close and handy,
to my beloved, Mandy.

what?
you're worried...
about my,
state of mind...

will ya, just *******,
haven't i
made myself clear,
i am way, too busy dying,
to pay you any attention...

this garden just going gangbuster
hey¡¡yah huzzah!!!

these are the questions
i ponder on a friday afternoon
after a few mango beers

do slugs get to volunteer to be snails or vice versa?

do you think, tadpoles grieve for their tails?

are the black and white
goldfish, aware of the colour
of their skin?

do polar bears, in captivity,
miss the ice fishing?

do lions get jealous, of how
cushy housecats get it?

why does nobody ever ask,
does my head look to big in this book?

yep..... i know ....deep

i enter,
entranced,by the aboreal entrance of the lush and
verdant place,
in which you
choose to exsist
the mist, smelling of
earl grey tea and
ginger cakes.
beckons,
me forward,
thru the curlique trees,
with lemon and limedrop
leaves
and drifting clouds of,
bright sunshine flowers.
in my wake my footprints
become little ponds with
goldfish toes.
ahead, i see you,
all shades of green
swinging,
lacksadaisically
to and fro...
in a hammock,
on a hummock,
between two aged, sandlewood trees
and in your hand,
you hold an island
of purple sand,
and polka dotted,
umbrella trees.
at your feet,
a crooked street
of pastel, pixie condo's
all curves and swerves,
with mushroom roofs
and teardrop windows.
your voice,
like that, of a finely,
strung cello
sings songs of welcome
to my jubilant heart
and i stop and think
you are a curious fellow.
i sit myself down,
with care
for the pixies fair
and soon fall asleep
to the lullaby of the aforementioned cello....
...alas when i awake
your no longer there
and i wonder if
you were,
just the aftereffects
of too much cake....


.....but wait
did i just hear
a pixie,
giggle,
a smiggle
up there,
behind my left ear.


...i so hope
              that i did....
                                don't you?

you
      walk
            naked
                  and dripping,
from
      the shower
                      
and stand,
             as i covet
                         your
                              absolute

beauty and magnificence.

ardent desire,
               raises goosebumps
on
   my skin,
             as lust
                    lights the fires.

your
     eyes,
         rake over me
                      and i am left
quivering....

we come
         together, with    
              mouths full of greed,
lips of desire,
             skin so tender....

that the touch
              of fingertips,
                   scorches and sears.

but burn, we must
             and burn, we will.

as we ravenously, take our fill

gorging,
           feasting,
                      devouring,
                      ­              desire.

this is our .....
      love's funeral pyre.
                      from which
the phoenix,
        each day arises...
             ...more incandescant.
to await...
          with longing
               fervent and asmolder
          
the next match's
                   striking to love's
                           lusterous fire.

she writes despair,
from her womb.
in thick menstrual red.
...a dirge of lost potential.

lamentations of longing,
need and want for a child
sear her face and mind....

again a false start,
hope....stands expectant at
the starting line.....
only to falter and fall,
time after time.

she hates,
this carriage, that does not,
well do the job
she hates,
those who can, with apparent ease.
who do not mis,
but have,
the joyous moments,
of that first squalling cry...

but mostly,
she longs for
the next time,
she can try....
til then,
sadness prevails

we will .....go.... to the woods
...soon... up on
..the mountains fringe...
that is ....where.... nature....
has placed.... it's great ..............demarcation line......
                                  where ...........the rat race ...ceases.......
          ...to exsist.....
                                   where......
the quiet just.... eases ..into your soul...

and ......
              your soul changes

first.... with momentary bliss
as.......you turn off.......
.... the technology
but... then you.... want....
                more
and... so you.... slow your step ... ....watch the wind.... in the trees
the birds.... over head,
...lizards ...in ...the leaf litter..
...undergrowth                                  a lady beetle ...bright jewel ...on your coatsleeve....
                       .......and that is when
..you sigh....
.......and truly let it go...
let it all drop... let it all behind
and.....
              i see my love
                          ........the world
.....roll off your shoulders
here ....in the woods...
....among the trees...

the sun sidles off,
to it's next assignation
and the cool, nibbles
through my clothes.

still, i sit on the back deck,
waiting in wonder,
for a silver stiched sky.

right now....all shades of blue,
shimmer in the glow of the
sun's fond adieu...

this is, the time i love the best.
the betweening of sunset and twilight, mere moments
of turning ...
and then, into the break of night,
as the shadows deepen
and the scurrying things, come on myriad tiny feet.

the stars relax into their
rhythmic, beauty
the moon benign, looks upon
us all, in silence..

and behind me, the lights
flicker on...in my warm
and cosy life....

goodnight, to you,
little things,
that make your way
in the cold, dark...

                        goodnight.

as we lie sate,
in the sand.
postcoital
depression, begins.

this quickie, in
the sandhills, on
the beach.

well, while it
scratched the itch.
it left the soul,
bereft of connection.

we two just,
almost, known,
strangers,
made s.e.x.
lust,
the primary need
love,
a bystander,
at the freak show.

antipathy rises,
a dragon ravaging,
my soul.
as my co conspirator
stands, zips and staggers
away.

is the anger...
directed at him,
a rampant manniquin.
or myself,
an accepting needing
cavern.

darkness, wrapped
about in self doubt
i rise
and rearrange myself,
donning my disguise,
of carefree debutante.

i am the ultimate
partygirl.
i walk back to the
beat of the  music.
leaving behind,
one more scrap,
of my dignity.

a calyx in chaos.
a crack in chalky crown, crimson, cratered, clowns
cry crystal shards....
clothe me in crimpolene
in shades of clinical ivory
and cream.

come hither they cry
and carp, cavil,caterwaul.

come hither, come,
come, come.
cypher the cyan, from the cyanide
castigate, the casting,
of the conversational.
be cognisant, within the
cogs of the  clock...

click-ticking..tick-clicking

in chorus, chant of canticle.
be the calm,
within the clemency.
and the core,
of the courageous.
concede not,
contemplate, with conscioncious, clear
the concepts of conotation

above all be
incomparable, capricious, canny and considerate
a conglomerate of cause, corpus and crux.....
both curious and a curiosity.
cause...
creation, cherishes
a clever n' curious, curiosity.

i have said,
goodbye to you
a thousand times, plus more
in both, small moments
and big.
when i turn,
to see your face
and then, remember you are no longer
so with smile, and a tear,
i  once again,
bid you goodbye.

it is now nigh,
on three years,
i have been saying
farewell.
all that time,
desperately missing you.
wishing i was,
saying,
hello, instead.


but the sad truth is,

dead is dead.

au revoir, dearheart

yet again.

unfettered thoughts
               scattered like spilt
       coin on slippery cobbles brass, silver,and gold
                     all lie gleaming
on the steaming
               .... . ....stone.

                        small thoughts
and large
spent along the way
                 these here,now,
are the dross
        and dreck of the day.

          one by one,
                   regained and
  pocketed,
         so gently,
                    put away,
                              at rest,
                                      at last,      
                weary mind,
              and tired bone.
            all thoughts now,
                    neatly
                 tucked up
           inside of my head.

i see, in the black
studio cave of creativity.....

gangling, disinterested youth.
metamorph...
into mecurial, liquid madness...

fluid, upon the stage,
they fly, toward the lights.
moths, to a burning moon.

momentary flashes,
of. god's humour,
in flight across
the mechanical sun's
gelled brightness.

and then the curtain falls.
and they drift back,
into their former selves,
inarticalate, but secretly
smiling.

memories of hope,
reside in the glacial
crevices of heart.

she awaits the sun,
with no expectation
that it will come.

she remembers,
the days of daisy chains
and carefree love.
eons back,
across a barren plain.

she sits, on splintered
dreams
and washes her face,
with salty tears.

she waits for her life
to change,
for her ship to come
but she has never sent,
word for one.

she sows, sorrow
in her fallow fields
and harvests,
dust and fearful longings.

she is, the muse,
of those come undone
she is, mistress to those,
unraveled and unraveling

she is, loneliness incarnate.


she sits, on the cherry red
bar stool, in the corner
nursing, a  ***** martini
and waiting for her prince
she has been waiting for
a long time..... since...

Here I am,
picking tissue lint,
off my favourite linen pant's ( I hate it when you leave a tissue in the wash.)
thinking small thoughts.

My mind,
dawdling along,
as my hands pluck tissue.
A bit like a magpie hunting worms.
It is hypnotising, in it's own way.

My dip, into the shallow end, of realities swimming pool. Now, I know,
there are those out there,
who are drowning,
in the deep end
and those who,
swim laps endlesslly.
And I will tell you,
honestly.
I know well, both those states of mind.

Bu, for here and this moment.
Dipping in a toe, is just fine.

i will bide my time
here,
with you my
love,
for it was you,

who came with,
the gift of love.
to my barricaded
door
and knocked gentle
and soothed my
unruly mind.

you came with a box, wrapped, in compassion
and tied with, ribbons of joy

and inside...
hope, on the wings
of butterflys.

i will bide with you,
my love,
i will bide with you.

twenty five syllables,
make up this poem.
i  checked them, for
poetic correctness.
just, to be sure.

the sharp edged
rubble
of the decimated
mud crab
lay in a pile
of shell,shards
and hollow limbs

we sat, fingers
and faces smeared
singapore curry sauce
smiling, as we raise
our beers to
still tingling lips.

simultaneously
we burp... in appreciation
big joyous burps
of yeast and curry.

we laugh....
before starting to clear
the table
of the mess...

here's a thought...
most of you,
would not send
a child out into the world
without a name....
but you will a poem.

                          *is not a poem,
                      merely, the child
                          of your heart's  
                             speakings,...

the bones in me
seek out the sun today
desiring of,
it's warmth and nourishment

the rest of me follows
blindly  along.
i have always been one,
to accede to need

i am done with work,
for a week or two.
so, i sit in the park
and watch the human zoo.

with the sun,
beaming down
in gentle dismay,
over the seemingly,
awkward disarray
of poeple, dogs and birds,
(mostly pigeons),scattered everywhere.

gotta have lunchtime nap!
forty winks.
i could afford,maybe more,

please dear lord;
i implore

keep the knocking hordes from my door.
switch the phone to silent
the mobile off,
comuputer quieted,
laptop too.

please heavenly father: make mute the zoo.

remove the marking
from the couch,
hurry now,
just push... it on the floor.
my nap time,
is dwindling away.

but,
without some, sombulance,
my semblance of calm acceptance will,
be blown away so,

dear god on high:
as i lay me down to sleep, can you converse,
with the sparrow
outside the window,
about stopping,
it's cheery,
              *fucken cheep

feelin lazy today,
so you get what you get,
turn the page
move on
learn from your mistakes 
be brave face your fears
footloose and fancyfree
 don't run with scissors 
smile
stay a while 
catch more flies with honey 
wrong way turn back 
a stitch in time saves nine 
when i was your age 
no rhyme or reason to it 
high road or low road 
polly want a ******* 
click, click, boom
first past the post 
i 'm just a smiling sunbeam 
barrel of monkeys 
to thine ownself be
thank you what doesn't **** you 
hand in the cookie jar 
never seen the like 
flat out like a lizard drinking 
not happy jan! 
take a bex and have a good lie down
pull your socks up!
sunshine and daffodils
 slip, slop, slap, put on a hat 
life passes by in the blink of an eye
stand up straight
chip on your shoulder
 take note 
laughter the best medicine 
*** 
brainfreeze 
kindness warms the cockles of my heart 
if you can't be nice 
you did not just say that 
umm, ahh, now you in trouble 
quiet now i am watching tv 
do not cry 
don't spray it, say it 
do not tell mum 
it was'nt me 
hava mint,
please lol
go to your room 
do not pass go
do not collect one hundred $$ 
hello 
all the world's a stage... merely players 
wanna play
go away busy 
want to come over 
can i kiss you 
push 
it's a boy 
what a whopper 
please i've seen better 
do i know you 
the dog ate my homework 
who now 
why am i here
 put your clothes on 
what goes up must come down
 life goes on 
is my *** big in this 
stop the merry-go-round
i want to get off 
whatever
i need a dollar 
tea anyone 
she had a goodlife 
sorry
how much 
every things coming up roses 
what pink pigs flying overhead 
snap, crackle, n'pop 
one sugar or two 
in case i don't see you 
good morning 
good evening and good night 
ttyl 
out
take a bow you've earned it.

whatever.....
she threw the word
at me
with all the youthful,
disdain,
she could muster
as she flounced
out the out of my sight...


and


.....wandered away from
her talents bright light.

must be a local now,
and doin something
right...
just got my logain  badge
my work dreck to his sight
redundant too

whoo!!! hoo!!!

it was, just one step.
not looking the right way,
at the right time.

a screaming hissing dragon
sound...
and then kaput!
i was down among the dead.

sitting in a room,
walls bloodred,
and decorated, tickertape style,
with all the things,
i'd left unsaid.

there was one window,
through which i saw...
what my life could have been.
if not, for an, unlucky draw.

there was no door.
and the floor was tiled,
in regrets and tears.
the light, filtered through,
a crystal chandelier,
of my fears.

i no longer sleep or wake.
but yet, am suspended
in this nightmare state.

and every afternoon,
at, four seventy five
the red eyed god.
checks that i breathe.

and always, he says
just before he leaves.

if you, had looked both
ways,
this would not have
happened,
you would have seen the bus, that left you, squished and flattened

and that,
is when it registers,
once more....
this is hell.... i am dead
and here forever....

and the red eyed god,
laughs and says,

are n't you clever!!!

he then leaves.

and  i remain,
wishing i could,
replay that moment
again
when i step down,
off the curb
in front of a bus.
going to some
unknown suburb.

the sun shines,
on your little golden-head.

as you and the blucat,
hunt lizards, in the garden.

i sit on the step and watch.
my happines,
overflows
and fills the world,
with a rose-tinted glow.

for me,
there is an undeniably
exquisite beauty,
in an aged face
it lies in the lines of life,
etched by angels,
as unseen cartographers.
it hides behind the crow's feet and creased frown lines. it is so apparent in the mryiad of tiny wrinkles
at the movement
of the faded red lips.
it is carried in the baggage under the eyes
and the luggage of wattle
at the throat.
it winks from slow
moving eyelids and thin arching brows.
it glows in a smile
that folds and creases
the skin like origami.
it is the beauty,
ethereal,
of a life lived,
of love found
and lost,
of hardship suffered,
and joys revealed,
of working hard each
and every day,
yet still finding time
to sing and dance
and play.
it is beauty,
created by endurance.
not manufactured
by cosmetics and pills
and machines.
it is a beauty,
so honest and true,
that it needs not
these things,
to embellish or frame,
it is the beauty,
of the years passing by, standing proud,
without fear or shame.
it is the old woman
sitting on the bus,
in the park,
having a quiet cup of tea,
it is my mother,
asleep in front of the tv.
and one day,
              i hope it will be me....

oh woe is me!!!
have pity, cruel
and heartless world.
the sky now fallen.
my sadness, unfurled.
i sail,
upon a ship of abject
misery.

i sit at the helm
and weep
and cry
and moan
and mewl,
til, my eyes have
run out of
wet, n' salted fuel.

now, those who know me,
are wondering why,
me, who writes happiness.
is having a hysterical cry.

if i can but,
bring myself,
to tell you why,
you must be generous,
of heart, and not say fie.

my big, catastrophe,
bigger than you know.
is a death, in the family...
they have lingered long
and been, a dear friend.
but this morning i went
to see them and they
where gone!!
and oh dear me!
what an embarassing end...

it is,
sad,
beyond,
sad.
i cannot tell a lie.
here its is....
in all it's badness

*my jeans done died

i just have to make it
to the end of this week
and then they are on
five weeks of exams
and semester break....

i can do this.....

it has been, some
seven months
since i started writing
here seriously..

before that a couple
of bread crumb poems...

so this i would like to say...
to all who care to see,
this place,
has become a sort of
nesting place, a home
of the thoughts, that
rattle around inside of me.

i feather it with words
strung together,

some like, gaudy paper chains.
and some threads of a deeper colour, grey, black, indigo blue...

some have the scent
of  an autumn morn,
smokey, salted and crisp, some of musk and lover's after bliss
others sweet reminiscent vapours, wafting from my past...
a few of, the little blucat
and his human toys.
most of love and life,
and the blessings,
that are my boys,
pebble and rock
oak and acorn...
my hope and daily joy...

i string these threads
and weavings up..
for all to come and see
and to those who do
i will for ever grateful be.

i thank you for giving
my words wings to flutter
and fly about...

cell, by
cancerous
cell.
i die.....

snail like,
my death approaches....
robbing me of my faculties,
erasing me, by mutant, toxcicty
and failing, ****** functions.

snail like,
my death approaches...
giving me time to watch,
grief, seed and grow into choking vines.

snail like,
my death approaches..
allowing me the gift,
of packing my dreams,
for a bright and happy future,
into an tattered and fraying,
overnight bag.

snail like,
my death approaches.
granting me the sight
of your beautiful face,
one last time.

.....as the tears fall,
the snail arrives.
and i find in,
the face of it all.
i wish i had made a far,
better go at at this thing
called,  life.

i can write you love poems
on parchment cream.
i can sway, and dance
through a moonless night
i can undress us both in
sweet slow torture
i can whisper loving words
in your ear
and write hot sultry nothings
on you skin,
with my burning, hungry
tongue
i can make you shiver, moan
and beg
i can stroke your manhood
til you can no longer stand
i can give you entry,
time and time again,
to my soul.
i can give you,
fast and *****
or, slow and trantric
love in so many ways,
i can take you,
to the brink, of madness
and back again.
i can keep you in my bed
for hours and days.
i can with love
unpick your seams
i can mix our essences
and make a new being
a godlet of love, hope
and daily joy.

i can and do and will do
all this....

again and again.

but sometimes all you want
is a bite of my toast a kiss and
a smile...

i can do that too...

love is...
sometimes,
complex
and
sometimes,
simple....
but mostly
it is somewhere,
in the middle.

you are home,
hungry, tired and
disheveled.
after, a week away.

my world
is once again
complete...

my heart sighs
in quiet relief.