My nights are filled with vivid dreams of what might be, Visions of you beside me, nakedly entwined, Your flesh soft and yielding, both luxuriating, In that delicious state of satisfied desire, Appetites slaked from hours of torrid abandon, Repeatedly cresting the summits of passion Coupled in the ecstasy of mutual lust. And then in the morning I think of what might be, Hot visions of erotic play in the shower, My hands e...
"Write what you know you think you feel, write just for yourself. Write the way you learned from me, and write for everyone else. Sometimes they will love it, most often they will not... Worry about that later, but for now just give it your best shot. Poetry's a puzzle and we find our only way To try to say the things we often fail to really say... If I have taught you anything, keep this small thought within your sight,...
My sensuous Madonna The perfect work of art. The sculptor cried, he knew You were inside just waiting To be caressed to the surface. Holding you, praying for release. Moulding you, desperate for an inner peace. Priceless
My friend Isabel -a Spanish- called me on that day, saying she had a problem and needed my assistance. She then gave me an account or her story, with details of her problem, on the phone: she had gone on a trip for a few days and, on having returned home, she dug in her purse for the apartment keys, even pockets, everywhere; the apartment keys were gone. She possibly had lost them. She lived alone in her place, so n...
