AWR website #3 #4 Invert Colors

 Creativity, of which poetry and other writings is a part, is not a one-way street. And the experiences and stimuli that engender what gets created are often shared and not just something affecting or relating to the author/creator. Some of what follows I categorized as “incoming.” Love and feelings and perceptions are spoken of and shared. I have taken a few ‘liberties’ with the writings that were mostly shared on ‘scraps’ of various kinds of paper. There were few titles and a little punctuation has been added here and there. The rest is pretty much as was resurrected. Enjoy!

A Message
I received this message;
I sent it on to you:elements in a universe
realized we are in space
the largest we become in each other’s arms.

are we to be alchemists joining in the answers
while we are the forces pulling wonder to form?

there is a part of me which is the worldless scientist,
star gazer,
earth mender
serving the perfection
of mind and desire.
a hugeness about us,
an open-ended scheme,
mandate: explore and record
react together,
opening our time to weightlessness, there are no wiser fools.

The Playground With The Fastest Swings
you and I awake,
having a cup of tea,
nothing set before us in the day;
the sun would break through;
the rain would seem to became a much more
crowded world last night –
a place for lovers only in the mind.
there is no doing away with
the other’s lover – no thought of it;
but is there a ramble path through the other’s?can the stroking of black curls
in Ashland up to the morning
be felt in Woodstock hollows
on a walking head of salt & pepper
pressed to the life of another
found soul?plow horses riding the early morning,
a bluesy yawn, and all the solemn promises
play the futures on a’re an important man in my life;
your presence as “evolved” man
shapes a space for my womanhood.
you’re an environment for my history, present and past;
the Playground with the fastest swings;
the museum with the lushest walls.but time is tight this year as
everyone knows and creative centers
close early – may the luck of
being locked in, staying all night –
do gents gossip?the preview of the growth
ahead of you excites me
like the promise of a carnival
for one night only.the notion
to become lovers is a sweet notion;
strangers exchange lives in a moment –
carbon arcs.the need to talk to you;
the must of dialogue
last night (Sunday, Our Town)
set you as “not me,”
“other than me” –
Separate and beyond the region of I write you, two cups of tea,
music to move me along,
and spoken conversation awaiting
a call.I find this all interesting,
the way humans feel;
what they choose to sustain recreation
(I love you)
can I touch your sweet lips?after speaking to you –
in the most complicated
two humans,
I speak in images of simplicity,
almost ritual.tea, the smelling of air
with rain stuck in its teeth,
the licking of sandstone,
the making of each other human;

perhaps the creating of each other by touch,
anointed with sun, lips, earth, wind.
we are of the same mind.
there is consent to exchange knowledge.

I lie open to your imagery.

Carpetbaggers Of Love
I am exhausted and walking with
the thought of you.The evening light is a saturation.
words are forming like February
buds on my limbs:
skin gardens of poems for you,
aiming one love on the light
and the other is held
like mercury in crystal.

as I drive,
the sky melts on my eyes,
clouds are holding the romantic era
and I travel in the folds.

We’ve made summer plantings of winter’s gardens
(we become carpet-baggers of love)

Winding My Way
Light fades:
Each day
Shorter.Tree’s soul signals,
Leaf’s lifeline dries;
My spirit, using rainbow brush
Touches leaf.

Spirit also paints you;
But mind’s eye,
And soul’s touch
Won’t cover your glimmer –
Your inner radiance.
God! So lovely!
Formed by that laughter
You patented and own.

Another laughter comes to mind,
Touched off by sensual play:
The music that you make
As I ride along.
You peer from familiar spot:
I put you, your light,
In favorite places to be.

My alone time is with you
As I reach, stretch out.
My senses try their wings
In ways I can’t fathom,
Except by touching thee.
My thoughts brush softly
The sides of your cheeks:
Finely covered,

Pink spheres introverted.
I salvate,
Seeking your tongue;
Juices flowing,
Seeking those fields
Where your puddles lay.

I am sky and cloud,
You mountain –
To lay upon and surround:
So softly,
So lightly,
Finding ways to unite.

Our skins, our covers,
Shatter as souls, juices, thoughts
Burst through
To unite . . . to fly;
To mix and tumble;
To intertwine;
To become as ONE.

The effort is exhausting.
I have changed.
I have given all.
All to know that I love
And am loved:
Knowing that fills
All  my days.

And as the days shorten,
Light fades –
And so doth our time together?
Perhaps not;
There are ways . . .
Summer lovers?
Comets touching?
Wildflowers mating?
Trying phase after phase.

Remembering and re-living:
Intertwining by the fire –
Becoming the fire –
Touching, licking, burning,
Flaming side by side:
Two bear hides
Slowly rubbing,
Interminable hibernation:
A different way of dancing –
One of Love’s
Many faces.

Oh, there is something
Burning inside:
Growing spirit
More in love with you –
It is so easy then to fly:
Just plug into DC.

So love, I’m connect;
I draw from your current;
Your flows and your energy;
Your spirit and drive.
Your swings are the fastest
And on them I do ride.

Keep the flag flying
When tears we are crying;

They make a river
On which we can flow.
In these waters,
We can join and mingle
Our hearts,
Our minds,
Our souls.

Our ripples come together:
Under and over –
Making circles and eddies
That will forever remember
Our lives and our loves.
What, then, does it matter
If our bodies are apart?

So shortening days
You are welcome;
The change of season
Merely stimulates other ways
To reach out and be touched.

May I now paint you
With rainbow;
Blow upon thee with cool breeze;
Cover you with falling leaves?
I caress your sweet warmness;
Your lumpy nextness;
Your twinkling presence;
Your luxurious languor.

We exist forever
In our togetherness World.

My Cells Howl
Lover, who are you, gentle in my bed,
the power of lions in your jungle strokes?
my cells howl at the moon for you:
man who’s very, very bright –
soul and passions as soft and holy as candle’s light.particles, waves,
ether suspensions and a floating walk,
until the touch –
the teeth shown, the tongue coiled:
the deepest,
fold your hands held in my arms,
tones burst forth around our love.
We Are The Players
tumbling forward in the autumn light,
lovers peel back my eyes,
hello my sweet.
lascivious giants –
carnival jugglers with my possible lines,
and I prefer you
feeling your way through
and giving
shelter in the personal unknown.Sunday
There is instinct urgency
and the opening of a smile at the “ain’t that just somethin’”
lunar docking, click, of no touch – vapor joy –
desks and furniture wise as all get love,
we are the players of each other’s mystery.

AWR website #3 #4 Invert Colors

© Mary Lou Quinn

Our Galaxy
Bright star
From afar,
What magic attraction?
You could be cool,
A mere fragment
Of that mysterious firmament,
Forever adding just a spot
To my dreams of you
And night.Eyes wander
With forced thought
To other constellations –
Other bodies who spin and glow,
Who call with siren’s song,
Falling on my ears
As only the static
Of the Universe.Bright star,
Growing sun,
Filling my nights
With blinding glow
Of all the suns
Of my days.Days past, whose clouds
Are burned to nothing
By the light and warmth
Of each tomorrow’s sun,
Shining through my heart
To inner eye,
Delighting my soul.Shining star,
From afar,
I rise and grow
To fill the space
And time in between.My dust and parts
Coalesce and burn,
Falling in, while falling up
To critical mass.I, too, am star.
I rise and grow,
Gaining equal orbit,
Matching light and heat.
Twin suns,
Feeding each other
As matter flies
In passionate exchange.
Symbiotic orbits,
Drawing in from near and far –
Matter and force,
We spin –
Each a sun.Together we suns
Are a new galaxy,
Finding new power,
New force,
With each orbit
Of our special days.I rise and grow
To your call and light.
This truth
Is our fate,
Is our destiny.
my mind is muddled –
dreams from days ago fall into
morning tea –
as unresolved
as the future.I’m afraid
Of the truth in worried ideas,
pile on the load;
there are no endings
in the bleak tenderness,
just building corrals
for the quality of life.I am clattering
the knives on the bars.
Molecular Fog
roving internal burn alchemists,
with standing onslaughts
by ‘aura.’
dazzling molecular fog,
lipstuck to our skins and
falling in veils.molecular fog –
particles of our spoken thought,
ranging desires
and color
chewed on and me the color of
moon’s skin tonight.
In a spot for reverie,
Love’s sacred and roaming monks set the tones;
I cannot carry anger or cynicism within it.I go there for the secrets we discuss most freely academic.
I lay me down on springs of laughing souls –
simple cacophonies (of blown notes)
tune the buoyant lunacy.

embers cross my lips with songs
(century twine)
slung like South American sleeping hammocks
in this rambling mind;
a restful perusal of all that has been;
(that you are laying in a hammock
of centuries from which you gaze
at times).

I’ve thought of a luxury I’d like to share with you.
The luxury of laying about, sometimes propped up,
with books each held in silent opportunity for thought –
that active passion we rarely share the enjoyment of.Each of us reading quietly, agreeing, passing,
breaking in inaudible cheers.

Side-by-toe or head-to-belly
Until an extravagant break into kisses ‘’
Exchanging the workings of an author’s ideas
as we fold them into our minds.
The exuberance of reasoned reaction to someone’s work;
The pleasure of expressing one’s sense of it all up to now –
making the love of scholars pleased with themselves
and looking for the perfect mean.

Walk But A Bit With Me
Why can’t we sometimes see
The forest for the trees?
Sun’s glare, moon’s glow,
Casts out the mind freeing
And never ending possibilities
Of a trip through the vast Universe
That lies beyond.Spirit entwined
At the mouth of the cave,
High on purple mount
Struggles to free itself –
To look first
At the endless green and stretch
Of the fields and valley below.Spirit yearns to soar
O’er peak upon peak.
But how, when entwined,
At the mouth of the cave,
High on purple mount?I stand and grow,
As forest over tree;
As Universe beyond sun and moon;
As endless valley and reaching range
Of snow-roofed peaks.I reach
To clear eyes and ears;
I call to show the way
And light the path
To realization.Walk not ahead or behind,
But by my step
To test the tread.Listen but a bit to words,
Echoing the mumblings
Of soul’s furnace,
And to the sounds
Of wind, of bird,
Of rustling tree
Of roaring brooks,
And snowy tread.Share a bit –
For no matter what,
It will stretch your soul;
More room for feeling and giving.Walk a bit with me;
Look at forest, Universe,
Plain and peaks.
Fear not for yourself
Your love,
Our seed.I am gentleness born on the wind,
Riding a leaf over gushing stream,
The sparkle in the web
Lit by fire’s glow.Fear not –
Motes In The Air
it is in my soul that I love you,
so it is that I read:
(skimming centuries; a sleek flat rock on mind’s skin)
Pythagoras, who grants us to be born
with the music of the spheres
in answer to its silence
and souls pulled from the void as numbers.The soul is the motes in the air.
Motes of their own nature continually move,
even in complete calm.The soul is attunement.
The soul is . . .
but the body.
the body is to receive it;
diving to the soul,
we love in tender storms –
the day is held,
and we are the day.In the afternoons
I dress in the muse,
exhausting myself
on fantasies and rhyme,
leaning on the evening light
‘til fallen asleep by.I accept lovers,
and all of them
are you.
Where Silence Thundered
We minded the crystal jewels
from surfaces of moon glitter
and rode them
down snowy dunes
into shadows of stillness
where silence thundered.I thank the gods for sweet night
which opens heaven to my soul.
I thank you, my sweet friend
for flowering in my sight of coached the morning
pastel colors to my door
and covered my wakened eyes
with your soft glow of rose
hovering over mountain breasts.
Moments Of Ours
suddenly it hurts
to think of you
or touch lip to face and palm to falling hair.
a thousand times we’ll never laugh together;
time chews you open and I am alone.there are moments of ours –
a kiss lasting or when you,
with ancient hunger only, wet my hair
with your tongue and chew soft circle
of darkness in the gold.

tell me the truth with your hands,
you know that thought blows wild,
invisible in the gathering woods;
warming dragons’ bone dust, and
century-old light to burning night,
we will sustain the flesh of summer.

Apart – For Togetherness
Give me some air,
Some room,
For growing;
For looking down
And around.To me,
Inside has to grow.
All about you,
I want to know
The bits and pieces
I want to sew,
Creating the fullest life
That we can have.We will make air,
Room and space,
And time for soul,
Body and face;
For smiles, laughter, and delight;
For tears, turmoil,
Pain, and empty nights;
For rekindling flames;
Relearning names;
Contemplating from below,
Aside and above:
Time, space, room
Researching the love
That was there,
Covered over and hurt;
If it is true and strong
Out it will spurt.So it begins –
This experiment,
Testing strongly
If for each other
We were meant.I throw myself in
With strength;
Confidence and grace,
To let love
Come back,
Through time,
And Space.
Do I Reach You?
I feel,
I can project my thoughts;
My experiences;
My feelings
To you
Across whatever time
And distance separates.
It is scary
And exciting.You fill empty pockets
In my being –
Blank spaces
In my thoughts;
Dips in my emotions.Here,
On the edge of so many things,
Are you to be a part –
A partner –
A vehicle?
A destroyer of recreation?
What?I’ve been reaching out;
I’ve been aching.
Do I reach you?
Can you feel those threads
Moving around you,
Running up your limbs,
Caressing each patch of flesh,
Brushing by and rubbing against
Each hair,
Resting in warm spots –
Moist spots;
Running and flowing
With your juices,
Being swallowed
And entering the inside of you –
Maybe becoming a part?Do you feel that?
Do I reach you?I ache from
Loving you.
The Eternal Sea
Image by Pixabay

Loving and Losing


Perhaps of all the things that motivate one to create poetry, number one would be the joys and sorrows – the elation and deflation – the almost indescribable feelings and thoughts that are engendered by romantic attachment and detachment. This Chapter from the Eternal Sea is very self-centered in the most part. Chapter IV is in the same vein and also has a subset that includes some ‘incoming’ poems that were sent to me. There may or may not be a ‘match’ among the poems included here. Looking at what has been written, I can picture just a few situations that can be ‘tagged.’ The rest let’s just dedicate to this most delicious of sentiments and experiences, and to lovers whomever and wherever they are.

Make When Now
When I am with you,
I want to be
The person I like.

Too often,
I’ve been driven by ego,
Claiming abject love.
Too often,
I’ve been a petulant kid,
Ready to run when rejected.

When I am with you,
I want to be
The person you like.

I want to fit in
The nooks and crannies –
The interstices in your life.

When I am with you,
I want you to be
The person you like.

There are lots of joys
And wondrous moments
To share, being together.
There is spiritual delight;
Closeness and ONEness,
And oh those EQ’s
[Emotional Quakes].
There is mutual appreciation,
Sharing of experiences –
Sharing of sadness and cheer.

There is a fit
Where the individual piece
Is preserved
In the jigsaw of life.

So, it is time
To celebrate
Our joys and wonders.
It is time
To bury petulance,
Together with ego’s fantasies –
Being fully aware,
Each of the other.

Can we walk those paths
That from time to time
Criss-cross in ecstacy?

Can we make when

Love’s Gift
Is like
Each growing thing:
It needs to be
Nourished to grow.
Weeds choking it
Need to be plucked.

Sometimes the weeds
May be perennial;
Other times
They may quickly bloom,
Fade and die –
Never to grow again.

Some love
Yields food for the body;
Other love
Nourishes the soul.
Once in a while –
Sometimes it is a long, long while,
That very special flower blooms.

It has no reason;
It has no rhyme;
It just IS –
Is sheer joy
Happiness to behold, to savor.
A love to be IN,
To be a part of and share.

No point asking why or how;
No real way to resist.
Just roll it ‘round –
Savor . . . enjoy.
Give thanks!
Give great thanks
That life has dealt something

Is like
Each growing thing.
When nourished
And allowed,
We all become
A song to sing.

This poem won me “Poet of the Year” award at the State University of New York, Morrisville – Kudos to the English Department there.

CrossroadsImage by Pixabay

A crossroads,
Creeping through those inner parts:
The interstices of marrow;
The backstairs of the psyche;
The third eye’s retina,
The final jangle
Of each ganglion’s pulse;
Memory’s yet-to-come input;
The light rushing ‘round the corner
To confront my soul’s
Beyond tomorrow.

A pulse, a beat, a cacophony –
Sounding and playing
That ‘other’
Who’s been a part of you;
That soul who, of late,
(So sad “of late”)
Whose vibrations have set off
That who wave
Of sympathetic notes,
Until each mini-second
Of each hour,
For every day that I live,
Sounds with the potential
Of the love that who will deny . . .

Of love that cannot be denied;
Sounds of the realization
Of wishes – past and present –
Sounds echoing but a moment
In the eternal span of time.

A crossroads, I devine,
Is near – or here.
Which path, which road,
Can we kick up
In harmonious steps;
Joyous dust that will play
Tunes of delight,
Sorting itself into masterpieces.

Kaleidoscope of love,
Fusing with growing strength
Until its power and light
Melts two super beings
Into a galaxy
Whose power sweeps all before it.

Or, do the lovers
Take separate paths:
Tears moistening
Purple forget-me-nots,
As distance renders the bond
Between two suns.

Have been etched in the paths –
Yes, bittersweet renditions
Of nagging regret and uncertainties
Over what Union with realization
Might have yielded.

There spins between these orbs
That gentle, lovely soul –
The “we” –
Springing from the essence of each
That grows with each day;
Each revolution
Spinning off a mass
Whose light may outshine
All others.

Though spirit drags
Crossroads there is.

Here is my hand,
Tomorrows call
And we must go on.
Will you take that hand
And match my tread
On the road
We both can trod?

The Last Note Of Your Song

I really like this one – the concept of being “the last note in the song being sung,” in the final ‘act’ of someone you love – unconditionally – just shivers my timbers (love that phrase also!). Music, to me, is the universal language – it speaks to all who hear it and creates a whole other sentiment and understanding from words – particularly if the words are ones you don’t understand because they are in another language. Life itself has an eternal music – an eternal song.


The fire of life
Burns bright and burns strong,
Energy is singing
Life’s eternal song.

That energy flows
Into matter and music,
And we human spirits
Are created to use it.

We were created,
Humans, tigers and doves,
To experience life’s dealings,
It’s travails and its loves.

The fire of life
Burns bright and burns strong
I want to be
The last note in your song.

The lesson is simple,
Open and clear,
Be in the Now,
Be Present, Be Here.

Do understand that the eternal quest
Is to be at ONE,
In the Creative Spirit’s nest.

The fire of life
Burns bright and burns strong,
It’s the space between the notes,
In Love’s sweet song.

The music you play,
It’s best loud and strong,
Makes me want to be
The last note in your song.

My Love Lies Inside
I can feel
The spot
Where you lie.

It’s on the left side
In a revolving curve,
My heart.

I reach out
To bring you in.

The melding seems
Not terribly hard.

I tuck you away.

My love
Lies inside.

Life’s Magnificent Charge
Bubbles burst;
Rainbows disappear;
Warmth and light
Are followed
By biting wind
And darkest night.

Joy can dwell inside.
Visions paint
Our brain’s eye
With every colored hue.

So, too,
Love sits in the saddle
Of a charging steed –
And, oft times,
Falls off.

Nothing, here, though
To stop
Life’s magnificent charge:

The struggle
Up the hill
In stickered wood,
Reaching the exhilaration
Of the top.

Life Is For Living
Is, oh, so many things
When a smile surrounds.

Grabs and holds me
When I listen to your sounds.

Life is for living
When love is a-giving:
Life is, oh, so many things
When you are around.

There are many forces
One can’t ignore:
All the Kings’ men and horses
Are here to assure
That life is, oh, so many things
When you are around.

Life has its reason
In each and every season,
My senses get pleasin’
When you are a teasin,’
And life IS for living
When you are around.

So keep up the music,
Be with it
And choose it;
Love is the harmony
That the soul sounds.

Life is . . .
Just so complete
When you are around.

Sweet Nectar
The sweet nectar of life
Moistens the dewy petals
Of the lovely flower
That is your soul.

Fly to draw
The nectar
For my new hive.

I leave
But enriched.
Blessed be YOU:
The flower
Whose nectar
Has become
The sustenance
And sweetner
Of this new life.

NYPL (New York Public Library)

The big central public library of the NYC system is at 42nd street in Manhattan – (no one ever says ‘Manhattan’ – it is ‘The City’ or New York). The main entrance is framed by two stone lions. I stood there fairly often and wondered what they were saying and what they cared about – if anything. And such riches inside – although relatively hard to access.


The lions turn
The other way –
Cathedral of knowledge
Framed our joy,

Temple of learning
Knows nothing
Of the twists
Fate can employ.

Cold books,
Scratchings on paper,
On shelves
All properly in a row.

Yet, outside,
In the warm drizzle,
Create the glow.

The spark
Grows to a fire;
The flames fanning
“True Love.”

The lions turn
Another way,
Which condition
Is the real one?

Which state
The ultimate Truth?

Can all those collected words
Give the answer?
Does it lie
Under that roof?

Was all that
A temporal flush of emotion,
Or rather the coming together
Of the one and only truth?

I am caught up
In the challenge;
Where is the answer?
How to pick,
How to choose?

They are inseparable
And by choosing
One would lose.

At First

I met a woman during dance classes at The Omega Institute – I was single at this time, having relatively recently gone through a ‘friendly’ but still difficult divorce. Would another woman enter into my life? This poem reflects the ‘odyssey’ that ensued.


At first,
You smiled at me –
Just an ‘innocent,’
Sweating through five shirts,
Trying to figure dance steps
For a performance
I would only get to watch.

At first,
You enticed me.
You came back,
Smiled a lot,
And was always ‘there.’

At first,
How nice it was
To have someone
Excited to see you
And seek you out.
We talked;
It seemed so easy and ‘nice.’
I got “hooked.”

At first,
You confused me;
And, yes,
You told me
It would be four months –
At least –
Until I could come to your house:
I came the next weekend.

At first,
I slept as a guest;
Then I held you –
God, holding you
Was the nicest place
I’d ever been
In my 21,870 days.
It made me feel
That I wanted to do it
For another 31,930 days.

At first,
You drove me crazy;
And then there was raised
The specter
Of discomfort and mistrust.
You didn’t believe me;
You thought
I would intentionally hurt you;
God, that gave me
Such pain.

I trusted the truth would prevail –
And it did.
The scars healed on us both.
I came to want to be near you –
To refocus my place
Of Being in life.
I wanted to be a support system
For your life’s goals.

And then,
You said I was crowding you!
The ground fell out
From beneath me.

At first,
You had opened for me
A new door to love.
I loved your music,
And making music with you.
I loved your laugh,
And laughing with you.
You picked me . . .
There I was, laughing with you.

I loved
The comfort of your home
And being comfortable there.
I even loved
Your regal pair of felines
And figured we all
Could have a wonderful life together.

Where was this explorer to go?
I thought I was
On the ‘right’ path,
Yet kept running into
“No Trespassing” signs,
Seeing nothing
But brambles ahead.

At first,
You had picked me.
How nice it was
To have someone –
Someone you grew to love –
Excited to see you;
To seek you out;
And make you feel welcome.
Oh,so good!

Holding you
At that time
Was being so close
To feeling at ONE
With the source
From whence all comes.

So, now,
(that now was a couple of decades ago!)
Can we move
Past picking out
To create what comes next?
So, now,
Is there a path
To your heart
And love’s life
I can follow?

Will you take my hand,
Will you take my heart,
Will you dance with me
To the Universe’s beat?

At first,
You smiled,
Enticed, picked . . .
Confused –
Where will it end?
(It did)

And as my friend T.S. Eliot said in The Hollow Men:
“This is the way the world ends,
not with a bang, but a whimper.”

My Soul Just Ain’t The Same
Head kinda heavy
And chin hanging down,
Fighting through the
Earth-bound fog;
Eyes, mind,
Lifting up.

Then rose salmon
Cotton-tieredn cloud.
Mountain tops rounded –
But not bowed:
“You are your own best friend.”
To live, then, I am learning . . .
Damn well, how.

And this think
Is an essential part —
A true nub of me:
My soul ain’t the same
When it is not
Connected to “WE.”

In fantasy land,
Church into theater is re-made;
On the screen
Don Quixote’s a-questing,
Seeking Dulcinea
A scullery maid.
And, yet, I dare . . .
I do
Dream the impossible dream,
And turning homeward
Search for the path
Upward to the sky.

Crescent moon,
Long and erie,
Piercing through earth-bound fog;
Then still looking up . . .
Arriving –
But not going inside.

Stars fixed in random beauty:
Fixed by each of our searching eyes;
Crossing then –
A flash of light–
A “shooting star” . . .
Fate; Kismet;
Calling to Westerly shores,
To goals near and far.

My soul is a good one –
So welcome journey-mate and friend.
Somehow, somewhere
(Oh, I know)
I have discovered (with you)
That place where that road
Has an end.
There are beginnings:
Myriad dreams.
Gazing upward becomes normal.
Life is so much fuller,
It does seem.

So choice:
Here you face me (us).
We know it’s no game,
Something is not quite right –
And to fix it I aim.
So hear you this message;
Think of the shame
When we are not together . . .
Our souls
Just ain’t the same.

Special You
Whose muscles stretch
In joy and freedom.

Wide, absorbing,

Unmixed, real,

Grasping the rumble,
The deep depth
Of you.

With a special scent.

Limbs and blood,
Nerves and muscles –
Body alive
As it draws
Breath of you.

The Eternal Sea
Image by Pixabay