It looked poetryWas sculpted in his headIt was his only museAnd I liked thatI wanted to dig in there.

I. Forged SilenceIn a furnace of patience,bronze becomes melted memory—ore drawn from dark veins,forged in the gorge of impermanence.Each hammerbeat molds intention;flame licks the cusp of silence.Metal softens toward surrender,its glow rehearsing stillness.Hands withdraw from the heat,letting the fire...

PETTING KITTY She purrs...enjoying the touch.She rises to meet the hand.You can see the want in her eyes.More! Don't stop! Don't ever stop! Kisses and cuddles! The purringincreases in volume. A special momentof love between them. The hand feverishly strokes the...

AfterwardsWhen appetites were truly fedand all their needswere met, she turned to facethat now famoushigh backed leather chair of hers,where lust hassince been shed and rid and slaked  so many times ..  Although now, tis long redundant ..Yet here,...

I. Genesis of Ink (墨の創世)  In the lull before meaning, I waited—paper pallid as forgotten horizon.No words dared their first footfall,no quill still believed in its spill. Silence rehearsed its own exhalation,a specter of half-formed thought.Ink, my pilgrim of persistence,stirred beneath...