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

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

eyes staring, wide
and terrifyingly blank...

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

Doors,
red, like a...

Cherished-
the soft exclamation of you...

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

I hate the way I feel,
when all I bring to you...

A cup,
filled with the stuff of life...

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

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

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