Beauty and Perfection
are coy flirts, simply. Not...

Doors,
red, like a...

Muscles clenched, fingers fisted
grasping faster, unresisted...

A valley empty, cold and dead
the winter keeps its frigid bed...

I gaze at the completed painting - a symphony of...
tinted water drips up to my brush as it becomes...

The livid rays birthed by an angry sun
beat down celestial scolding on our backs...

Before the gathering of dust and time,
catches...

The dancers take the darkened stage
in a shuffling shimmer of sound...

Low tones through thin walls, the
bouncing Germanic rhythms of my mate...

The world swelling
big gourd fleshy bulk...

Cherished-
the soft exclamation of you...

We went where we always go -
the place where the telephone lines shoot...