I'd bathe in a sunlit room,
over a silver moon
any day,
To feel the warm magic
of a winter June,
it's a new summer baby,
We may well both be here after midnight,
I'll bring a kiss beneath the twilight
Pull the sun out of the sky

I’m not scared for you to lose me, you meeting a soul is lucky
It’s like you found peace, with a kind of presence
And the language we speak, knowing you, you'd tell
For how loud my heart beats happiness

Just as arms of yours are so strong,
Stretched the same as mine, we hold
Tightly before the day mourns
Twilight laying in your warmth

You get it, how intimate it gets
I'm an easy catch
My words become your words, they come easy like breath
I’m curious to learn you, and the surrender,
For when it comes to you,
Its easy to forget,

That I’m not scared of falling in love, gravity is my friend
I’m not afraid to show you my silly sides,
You may well be both my strength and weak signs
I’m not afraid to show you off, oh the sun don't hold secrets,

Never really felt like this
With anyone when I write
You keep me warm,
Wrapped in sunshine,
Clear skies,
With you all day long

No I can't cry for days like this
To be with someone right
When it feels warm
Not with anyone, I,
Hope no clouds are in sight,
None but just the sun

Waves caress my feet,
ever so gently,
wind murmurs words of love
to me,
the sun kisses my soul
so warmly.

Within this ocean of affection,
my thoughts tremble,
but my heart yearns
to drown deep,
lost in the ebb.

how much poem can
one propose, compose & dispose
of in an Apple watch timed
inchoate incontinent inconstancy
tide-pool of multiplying amoebic minutiae
of a single minute

can you cram a lifetime of
an everything
without filling
the centrific center,
the holy totality trinity ethereal of
birth ~ life ~ death,
one
entirety capsular
summary?

Not I, derided He,
124 drafts accumulated
of a life
heretofore and a
thousands poems scripted
and a thousands yetto come
hereafter!


If only,
I could have loved it better...

a hand without a palm,
a smiley face with a ----
for a mouth, a
headless horseman who
passion rides country roads at night,
but sees no one and no thing

the title is a poem's crown,
full of hint and mystery,
an encapsulation of a poem's
source and origination;
do not mot~send us little pearls
unstrung, for the beauty
so greatly
amplified, when their lustre
is so
great fully magnified
when
strung together in to a lace necklace shape,
clasped by the overture of
the meeting of
the beginning to an end

the title is a mystery, a provocation,
a first bite intended to arouse,
a first kiss upon a neck that tremors
our souls with unanticipated shivering delights, and an ending to which we return with sighed satisfaction, and the cloture and aclosure, and a smile of
ah, I get it!

entitle us to the puzzling delight
that a title hints at what surely will
follow!