All Rivers Flow To The Sea
The Sea
Never Fills Up.
Also The Woman.
And The Sun.

Racing Back To The
Place Out Of Breath.
You Should Remember The Flight
The Poet Writes The Bird Is Mortal.
And The Woman Turns.

A Break Before The Flower Blooms
Petals Vibration Wet With Dew

Natures Tears As The Effective Begins.
I Guess Every One Of Us

The Bud Firmly Holds
The Ecstasy Of The Kiss

In Fast Bloom
It Doesn’t Want To Miss.

Peace Doesn’t Come
From The Head
Peace Comes From The
Warmth Of Our Hearts

There’s So Much We Could Say,
There’s So Much We Should Do,
To Make A Peace All Over The World,
Create Love That’s True

Would Life Be The Same.
Where Would I Be, Where Would You Be, And What Would We Do?
Would Life Be The Same
Two Broken Pieces Brought Together And Made Whole, To Perfection.

I Truly Think That The One Couldn’t Survive Without The Other.
The God Has A Plan And Our Journey Up To This Moment Has
Been To Prepare Us For What Is To Come. We Have Been Shaped
And Moulded For A Perfect Fit And Our Destiny Is Unfolding

Poetry Came When We Wanted It To Paint
Beautiful Images
Trying To Keep Away From Ideas,
But We Go Back To Them As To A Wife, Leaving
The Lady We Desire.

Now They Will Have To Believe It
As We Believe It In School
All The Thinking Got Combed Out:
Now Open Them On A Thin Upright Path.
It Might Give Us Some Flowers

He Walked The Streets Of The Undead.
Before His Eyes Drunks Fell Into Their Graves
Beyond The City, Cemeteries
Dominated The Landscape.

The Bells Of Empty Churches Tolled Sadly.
Where Was He Going
Beyond An Imposed Self
No Longer Himself, To Create A New Self.

I Wrote With Blood
Of My Veins Each Syllable Burning
Words Like A Blue Flame
Scorched My Critics And Danced
With The Cry Of A Man

Knowing Just What I Like,
She Keeps Her Jewels On
When She Strips,
So Stone And Metal Gleam
By Lust And Music,
A Body Restless, Moved.

To Pose, Erotic, Unashamed,
That Sleepy Smile Enhanced
The Oiled Mahogany Thighs,
Her Arms An Angel Of Destruction

We Had Stepped
From The Room Of Desire
Into The Further Room Of Love?
And Wasn’t It Sacred,
The Sweetness
We Licked From
Each Other’s Minds?
And Were We Not Lovely,
Then, Were We Not
As Lovely As Thunder,
And Damp Grass, And Flame?