... Applachia ..., ... love ..., ... poem ..., ... poems ..., ... poetry ..., ... relationships ...

she talks of love

life is ebbing
and with it comes
clarity

women have spoken
to me of love
for half a lifetime

i have mused it
and studied its
corners and edges

analyzed its
emotions and
measured what boundaries
i could find

but it was not
until
she spoke of love

that i felt
the blood burn

when love
and body
and lips
collide

she talks of love
like its her
soulmate
and it is,
love was
made for lovers,
it is hers
and she is mine.

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... poem ..., ... poems ..., ... poetry ...

love ruse

do not be fooled
(but you certainly will be)
by Love’s siren song,
when she comes to
you under the
symmetrical skies.
november and midnight,
starlit tangled tresses of hair
lure those supine souls
lacking the sufficient
wickedness; for the
softest of hearts among
us falls first to
her salacious singing.
for the latter ones,
she broods,
and our Death
is not so quick.

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... Applachia ..., ... Autumn ..., ... beauty ..., ... experimental ..., ... girl ..., ... life ..., ... poem ..., ... poems ..., ... poetry ..., ... written under the influence ...

i, man

i like being a man

this world and everything
on it is mine
for the taking

dominion given me
by its Creator

i am fashioned by
Earth and God

mud and Breath.

woman was made
of man and God

bone and Breath.

i gave of my life
for hers in Holy Days.

but I am a taker by Nature
an ape by comparison
a fool in Spirit
and blind to space
of whose dust i am hewn

a patchwork quilt
of interplanetary incest.

a halfwit before her
a cretin, an addlepate, lost.
there is indeed a God
and i am salt crystals
at His table. mined from
oceans of Everything.

Standard
... Applachia ..., ... Autumn ..., ... beauty ..., ... country ..., ... experimental ..., ... ghosts ..., ... girl ..., ... humor ..., ... kiss ..., ... lips ..., ... love ..., ... poem ..., ... poems ..., ... poetry ..., ... relationships ..., ... the South ..., ... the sun ..., ... time ...

slow cooked

it is not some
trite dalliance
that grips the
heart of men.

only dull, skittish
boys relish the
heated felicity
of a made to order,
stir-fried love.

but men, with souls
of old, yearn
for a touch
scooped slowly, deliberately
from the bottom of her
deep, boiling cauldron.

a woman’s affection
is a savory stew, that
fills the heart long
before the loins and
leaves with no want;

only the wafting joy
of a salacious morning
left cooling in the breeze
on an opened window sill.

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