A Poet's Haven

from an unlikelysource one who neverknew what a treasurehe had comeacross in bits and piecesshards that cutdeep intrigued by themind behind allof the pieces a few of the piecestiny slivers are imbedded underand into my skin further attempts toremove them has pushed themdeeper within as if they founda home and are notwilling to leave as…

that woman frompassion’s play known bymany names her hairis always darkalways longalways beautifultangled or not her eyesa hue of browncaptivatingenticingalways inviting her heighther shapeher walk always akinthough eons pass that beguiling laughwith melting smile those lips of redvirginity’s allure images dance throughboudoir’s and kisses as memory’s servefrom eons past a twisted heela balanced catcha velvet…

Watching you sleep.Watching your chest , as it raises and lowers with each breath.I noticed your eyes moving rapidly behind your closed lids.I smiled as I thought of how much I admire what those eyes see.Watched your lips as they formed a smile.As I remembered the first time I was captivated by that smile.Thought about…

from the momentwe met from the choiceof her words I knew of herpassion I knew of hersong I knew when shecame into mydreams I knew of thedepth of theof the lovethat she held As I listenedto a melodyof a horseat full run As I heard eachbreath both hersand her Brat’s I breathed inthe aroma ofboth…

our voices crossedas the sixth moonwaned uniting old soulslike friends fromthe past our dreams beganon a mid summernight for she is aspirit of the night as she rides herstallion in the palemoonlight amidst the wavessplashing along theshores for she and Bratborn to be one her people stillrun with the wolf bound to the packborn to…

“ the first time ever I saw your face “ I knew when I heard this line in a song  for the first time it was you,  you were the face I thought of,  the first image to emerge  from the depths of my very soul it was you. I know that there are very…

In the wee morning hours of a midsummer day I felt her rise  from our bed the sound of the door that leads to our garden. As I rested on my elbows I realized she had not dressed I wandered to the kitchen in search of coffee. Waiting for it to brew I stood at…

To those who know him it is his life.To listen to him privately it is plaque.The bane of existence.But when writes he the wordsand picks the stringsit is love.And the beauty of their loveconsumes all who feelthe passion of their love.For they,they were meant to love.And he,he was meant to write andpick the strings of…

As I set oblivious to the world,  reading A Poet’s Havens poetry from my  tablet When the overwhelming scent of her  she may have dab herself with intoxicating perfume  but on her it becomes purely lethal to my soul As the tablet dropped from hands and into my lap  my eyes drifted very slowly from…

They use to call it a twinklebut that’s a bit old school even for me.With her it’s always a gleamwhat’s a gleam you might askwell a gleam in her eyes means.She is writing another of our exotic adventuresone for sure to be erotic filled with all of theunbelievable passion she can create,within the inner recesses…