The moon is an outline of your face during midnight musings as though time spinning backwards and emotion bursting forward like tea rose, there is a tide in the affairs of soul a rising blush unfettered by clouds, but who would be the one to unravel it’s message as mysticism begs the direct passage of … Continue reading There is a moon inside my poetic being

Invigorating and intense is love. A kiss that hints at butterscotch, caramel, and tuberose fragrance. I find I am unable to read your lips unless they are caressing mine, as whisper, as promise, and a sigh followed by consummation. A kiss is more personal more private than sharing a secret it's a bond that blossoms … Continue reading The Kisser’s Handbook

Midnight, splash of tangerine single glow of a street lamp where roses riotously bloom and heat aligns with supple thighs. Perfectly red these lips gauge contours of your devilishly handsome shape taste fire and storm as hour gives way to a soul binding kiss.     Photo credits: Pinterest Posted for "Quadrille #73" @ dVerse Pub … Continue reading As one having wandered in every stage of life

I have felt rain falling on top of my head, heard soft crackling of wood and seen individual flames burn, yet I know not this feeling that gushes toward like the ocean every time when I hear your voice. It’s said that sensitivity is a staircase each step that we take allows ourselves to move … Continue reading You, therefore

Neither merlot nor pink, unrelenting is mirror and its gaze a simple thing as touch is invisible it can only be felt like rays of the sun or dew drops that glimmer upon a slope of grass. Moments after the sky is tinted orange I would sit with the thought of you smiling reminisce thunderous … Continue reading February Twilight

The heart knows not winter only change, transition, as the cold comes to usher in the flame-- I look out and embrace what seem to be amber, spruce and rose each of which soothe into quiet reflection. Come February, I have emptied the soul of pain similar to how torn pages scatter in the wind. … Continue reading The Turning Point

And sometimes it’s better to counsel with our hearts alone. I have found that pink buds are perfect within and destined to open. Perhaps it’s the inclusion of personal pronouns in daily life– of singular I, me and plural we, us. A few more days of warmth and it would bloom one need only be … Continue reading Poem Holding Its Heart In One Fist

A shade of forgotten dreams, an hour before sunlight hits the stream here the water is emerald darker in the shadows and restrained in light, I want to withdraw agony and give it voice witness stories unfurl from painted lips. To the fury of gentle yet audacious heart darkness is a love letter silvered with … Continue reading In City of Grey Mists and Unfulfilled Desires

Steeped in the stillness of January, in neon lights and empty streets love walks a tightrope where once the grass was green. Now, bare bushes abjure sun and shadow knowing bowl of lilacs mourn love’s memory; she tries to remember a time before him.   Photo credits: Pinterest Posted for Quadrille  #72 @ dVerse Pub

12 A.M. I held my heart  as outside it began to rain, the cry of an owl told me the uncaring knew not change  they dupe the eyes of men, dare I storm into their hideout and take a chance? There is a colourable look that you wear that maddens the eye and blows my … Continue reading Late January