Sweet Alabama Peach

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I brush my lips against you
Your fine soft hairs tickle
Tempt
You smell of sweet musk
Sweat
A warm summer day
Spent in the orchards
Making love beneath the trees
Eyes bright with anticipation
I slip my tongue over your soft skin
Taste you
You taste like nights spent by the ocean
Humid days in bed
A fall dance
I take you into my mouth
Patiently
Extending our time together
Making the seconds last forever
Carefully
I press my teeth into you
Playfully
I bite
Softly
Longingly
Lovingly
Your sweet nectar
A melody of seduction
Slides down my chin
Slick
Sticky
Warm
You surrender to me
Your juice
Fills my mouth
With an explosion
I suckle your tender flesh
Feel you slide down my throat
I smile
What a peach!

 

 

I Like

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A kiss on the cheek
Soft and sweet
Or tongues deep
In secret communion
A hand to hold
While walking down the street
Or tightly between the sheets
Or gently
While watching movies
A shoulder to lean on
A shoulder to offer
For whatever reason
Or none at all
Light cool rain
On a warm summer day
The way you glitter and shine
Any weather that keeps me in
Next to you
Tracing the curve of your spine
That sexy “Ssss”
With fingers or tongue
To places made for pleasure
Those incredible exotic spots
That cover you in constellations
Like a leopard
Sweet Kitten
Your random mewl always makes me smile
And your purrrrr
Man I love your purr
There’s no question what you were
In a past life
Long nights in rockers
Chattering about rock stars
Rabbits
Poetry
Dogs with sirens on their heads
Things profound
Or silly
Or necessary
There is no limit to the chatter
No rules
No end
That
Is freedom
Planting flowers
Hanging lights
Making love all through the night
The scent it leaves on skin
Warmed by touch that never fades
Locked in eyes that never age
Held by love I freely offer
But my favorite thing of all
Is the place I keep
[With love]
For you


Image by Pille-Riin Priske

A good heart

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My vehicle
Wasn’t always taken care of
Old as it is
It shows the scars
Of its rough history
It’s paint
Lacks the luster of its early days
The interior
Is cracked and stained and torn
Sometimes it requires repair
I have the tools
The ability
Patience
I do what I can
But some of the work
Is too little too late
And it breaks down
If I could do it again
Start from the beginning
With the skills and knowledge
I have today
I would take better care of it
So it would last longer
It would shine
Be clean
It would have fewer dents and scars
A better life
But I’d keep the engine from this one
Because I run good

 


 

Image: “A Good Find” by J M Greff

 

 

 

Between Kisses

 

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Lips pressing gently
Between soft words
Sharing the story of our life
In whispers
Only we would understand
Hands playing, searching, probing
Seeking place and time to memorize
Connecting everything
Everyplace
Everyone
We’ve ever been
Absorbing past and casting future
On the canvas of our life
In patterns of light
That play like the sun on
Chilly water that makes you squeal
Standing on toes
Pressing close
As laughter ignites the air
Blinding prying eyes
I am breathless
Whispering love between kisses
Telling the story of our life
——-
Image from rawpixel.com

never alone

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along this path of dreams I have walked with feet tenderized
seasoned prime cuts on shards of exquisitely broken memories
laid out in spirals of blues and greens and yellows that
flow up and down the tendrils of my spine
diverting brooks
high walls
bordering towers
babbling riddles
my heart knows
yet reveals to no one
not even my Self
while the shreds of who I was
howl at who I am
meant to be and I
in the middle
ears open
eyes open
heart open always beckoning calling
stand alone
not this time
I cry in confused tones to an empty stare
returned
hands beseeching
empty room
not this time
I will the world
to halt
for just this moment
this night and join me in ecstatic union
not this time
she replies in coy indifference and self denial
the result of a life of tribunal

not this time

this time I travel alone

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Image by Nate Bell

so close i can taste

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a light rain
more a mist
a wet veil
cools the humid air
that clutches
and claws
suffocating
like some silent
assailant that cant be escaped
it swirls
in slight eddies
like cool water
in a warm pool
sweat runs off me
in a stream
still it feels like spring
life constantly flows here
something always in bloom
mushrooms sprout and die
sprout and die
the resurrection fern
mostly green
sleeping only hours at a time
the rain seems to never stop
yet does nothing
to subdue the humidity
giving life
to all this glorious green
even I
suffocating in the heavy air
grow


Image by Johannes Hofmann

Something Lost

Something Lost

With one foot
Mostly
In front of the other
He shuffles
Back and forth
Left to right
Trying to follow
A boulevard
That keeps moving
Disappearing
One
Retracted
Step
At a time
His eyes
His mind
Blinded
By whatever poison
He has chosen
To end his life
I watch him a while
As he stumbles
Up the stairs
Of a nearby school
To empty his bladder
Then into traffic
Horns wailing
Cautioning
Cursing
He is seeking
Something
Something he has lost
I think
You won’t find it there
You won’t find it there
But I hope you do

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Image: “Anywhere you lay your head” by Bill S. 99

Captured

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Arms out touching phantom limbs and ephemeral vine.
Closed eyes focused on aery chimera that plays like
faded film, enshrouding me in palpable memory like a mist.
August oaks and resurrection fern and aged buildings
replaced by towering cypress, snow wreath,
rhododendron tall as the homes lining these neglected streets
broken by root allowing the very least of natures
determination to reclaim, one minuscule stem, one straggling stalk,
one unnoticed flower at a time, its verdant refuge,
once sanctuary to boundless existence long since
consumed by distressed homes, distressed economies,
distressed people.

Not now. Not in this moment. In this moment I am alone in
ancient woods making my way along a secret trail
winding through prehistoric marsh fed by countless miles of
free flowing rivers giving life to this lush alluvium filled with
musky smells of decayed wood and stale water and something
sweetly familiar I can’t put a name to.

If you saw me there, on that canted sidewalk, you might think
I was mad or lost or wandering under the influence of
something other than my imagination. If you looked
closer you would see a smile. If you noticed me at all.

More likely you would pass by without second glance
accelerating to whatever urgent appointment or function or task you
scurry to. “Nevermind the crazy man”, mother says to
daughter, ears stopped with buds to obstruct the uninvited,
eyes adjusted to the screen of the tiny world she holds in her
hands while thumbs impulsively tap out affirmations or declarations or
insinuations with inherent indifference to a faceless complicant
selected as benefant, marginally amused at mother’s dumb
mouth, assigning words consistent with expectations in place
of those overridden by disapproved music. “Are you listening to me?”

Mother chatters voicelessly. A silent movie. A mime.
Daughter sneers. Fires a message of discontent into the void.
Co-conspirators.

You have missed far too much.
Where are you going
that you have no time to look?
To see.
What horizon are you fixed upon
that blinds you to miracles?
To live.
How can you occupy the same space
without sharing it?
To love.

I see you drive by as in a dream, intruder, trespasser to my vision.
Out of place and time. The vision is disrupted.
The winding path is replaced by
fractured concrete.
Smells of sacred land replaced by
exhaust fumes and humanity.
Rhododendron to azalea.
Snow wreath to palm.
Cypress to oak.
Marsh to asphalt.
The veil lifts.

The image remains.

Captured.


Image: “Misty Veil” by JMGreff

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