Poetry is painting with words. Painting is poetry without them. Lust is poetry with bodies. Poetry is lust without them. I wonder if someone else has thought of this.

climbing the notes to youmemories rush in and I weepgentle understanding in a lookI am nothing without yousacred need I have faithoccult visions disturb my reveriemy imagination warps and turns darkmy heart misses youmy thoughts find you ofteninside the...

  The Secretary “GET ME A MARTINI,” his voice crackled on the intercom. I’ve been working for this fucker for a few months now. I was already starting to regret my decision. I knew I didn't have much secretarial qualifications other than...

My eyes upon her beautiful, breathless silence.   Whilst she sleeps forever, I whisper to her in prayer.   Hoping she'll come back, I know that'll never be.   I consider setting foot into the grave to find her.

Here laced to your senses is an enchantment. If it doesn't speak to you...  let it show you!   The day aches, and I with her,  daisies in tune with natural energies  said trouble was on the dimming horizon. I could feel it...the sunflowers all whisper,    quietly gossiping...