Delirium Tremendous!

Of course true love is always shared in joys –
for lovers never read each other wrong.
True love is held aloft as altar boys
would carry holy vessels through the throng.
And love is never weary, never flags,
is bright as popcorn, glowing as a morn;
no outside factors leave a heart in rags
or, faced with daily pressures, grown forlorn.
     a lover’s kiss is always toothhpaste sweet
     for love is groovy, awesome, total…neat.

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Nature, Man and Woman

Now cite for me the place that it begins –
parse the peas and carrots please; and then
the creepy-crawly things, and things with fins
and when you’re through with that, consider men!
No, really, it’s a joke to will us there,
beyond the borders of all else that breathes
[we’ve long been far less vital than the air]
and flowers growing wild surpass all wreaths;
true nature lives in us and we in her;
we are not separate from the scheme of things;
it’s skin as much goosedown, beaver fur –
your precious stones were precious before rings.
     It’s Mother Nature brought about your birth;
     we are not foreign bodies here on Earth.

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The Sheer Volume of Histories

haphazzard              
                     inevitables
         or ponderous        imponderables

                   times out      
                        in forgotten dreams    

                tides turn at times
   – tsunamistyle, it seems –
               and splinter
                        these frailest
                                  of  vessels

     now      that  one gull-white sail
             is rent
                        asunder      
                    I am left   adrift              

                                        to wonder

               who poured all the lead
          into those empty suitcases ?

                    a weary heart embraces
                                     fearful thoughts

     . . .  can these tenderest green buds
            survive so many mean     and ancient
                              onsloughts ?

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New Beginnings

My weary darling sleeps
and his slumber fashions
my waking fantasies
as I follow unrecognized
shadows around walls that
have acquired fresh coats
of innocence – rooms newly
unknown, unexpected incarnations
of love reborn in dreams
of countless kisses –
of kisses sweet
and kisses langourous,
rough and tender
beyond blunt gender
beyond beyond –
though truest love commands
I let my dear sleep on.

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Seduction

forget the lore on birds and bees
how to tease and how to please
how to squeeze and never freeze ?
try gin or vodka to appease
or maybe just some wine with cheese
alcohol does it…by degrees.

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Smoke Screen

love letters
from the outer
Hebrides –
spending time in
The Other Side Café;
smokey bar-b-
ques
and mind your
peas;
of course it’s a tease –
i cannot recount the
real deal,
cannot leak a
peek — nor even a squeak
from this beak
be as forth-
coming
as it might
on the heels of love
in flight –
high-wire stuff
and aching purities
reborn in fire.

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A Sense of Propriety

When my husband was dying
you and I were doin’ it
in drafty hotels
punished by bus fumes
consumming ourselves
in life, while death racked
and stone crushed him –
as if he were some traitor –
in the so-public square
of hospital.

Betray my husband,
who I visited daily in his
antiseptic prison?
No. That would have meant
bringing you to his bed –
I chose instead clones of
Room309 with the rattling
partitions – one day a week,
for that is all we ever stole,
fifty days of that year,
leaving the nuptial couch
to its sanctity – that hallowed
place of Husband and Wife.

A fine distinction, you say?
Perhaps, but then
many have none at all.

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