When lately have you said – “I love you”. I’ve had gentlemen aplenty lovers by their score and feverish rakes
Who are we, sons of our father? Or a new breed – a people few cheat to detain power, empty treasuries while many are docile, unconcern’d to expose injustice and fraud?
Life is brief – unbelievably brief, yet each days’ journey seem a long trek towards home. On this rough and steep road that stretches broad and far there are many travelers, co-hikers. Few are real friends, many thieves,…
She’s an ‘I-Love-You’ that consumes me, deludes me my head is in her cunt, lost in this voyage she propel.
Inanimate, yet an immortal I speak without speakin’ needs no batteries, ne’er crashes unless thrown in the corner.
My father’s son I am; I am hard to repress from a distance you’ll without doubt pick me out from a multitude even before you engage me before I open my mouth to speak.
When we were teens, less than 20 desperately innocent, full of wonder a word was rarely utter’d at dinner.
What’s a poem? Is it witty word play, phrases or sentences that are stripped prose meant to be insightful, arrayed in stanzas and verses, that at times its theme seem puzzling or incomprehensible to a reader? – Yes,…
Restlessly, relentlessly I roam in the dark unable to sleep, too excited by thoughts in my heart and head.