On a snowy winter day, As we walked home a girl did say, Of ptarmigan in willow tree, “Can I take him home with me? He’d have a pillow for his head And cool white sheets, and be well fed. He’d sit with us and watch TV And he’d have biscuits with his tea. And sometime he might fly away And come again another day.”
To this I answered in reply That “we could ask. It’s worth a try. He might come to be tucked in bed Or he may just send his love instead And stay there in his willow tree And carry on all wild and free. He might...
I love the idea of a crystal-clear clean fountain that breaks up every pattern as it emerges and replaces it with a new one in love ever renewing and what is old decays and floats away is cleansed reborn reconstitutes in brand-new day and so remains eternal in this way.
And patterns stay unbroken in this change in change itself as they grow into being becoming all the while more themselves seeing what they like in what they're seeing which shatters what they were -- forever freeing -- liquid in a constant ever fleeting.
And I would look into your eyes and I would look between your thighs and we’d do more than fantasize. Though in my dreams you tantalize I hear your sighs, I hear your cries all under heaven's skies, we fly. I would caress your breasts. With that flush of success go further to undress your heaven -- all the rest. The soul within your eyes I’d merge with in our cries.
And I would hold you in the night and comfort you in pale moonlight and you in turn would comfort me in absolute serenity of...
Devils or Angels, which are we who make love in our words so free we dream together in a pact but are we not caught in the act. Where does fiction become fact when minds caressing interact in poetry a flight of words that's more than something for the birds but speaks the soul and makes us whole in expressing all we know of what we feel and what we want a mansion that like ghosts we haunt.
But we must believe in turn that dreams come true and so we learn to weave our dreams as passions burn fueled by the things...
I would take you very very slowly where every minute seems like an hour and then I would have you for a week and a day as I move inside you with a slow and powerful surge like the tide that ends in great jets of Ocean Spray and the soothing roar of surf surging in great ocean caves.
And there I would be chained to you in the bliss of knowing nature's way. And we would meet like predator and prey who need each other to feed each other in the scheme and the dream of every night and day.