Naked to All Eyes
sift through the grist
the broken glass slivers
dusty mental mementos
crackling in the fireplace
next to a creaking rocking chair
only ever slightly muffled
by the hand-woven, wool rug,
bleached out pastel tones;
see if the singular moment
"I am" stands before the mirror
disrobing in the moonlight
until naked to all eyes.
Savoring Tomorrow's Flavor
Savoring tomorrow's flavor,
he hears the nitty-gritty low down
in your Aphroditic hours, with fantasies -
gliding on updrafts of your pleasure.
Rolling, he slips down the slopes
of your laughter.
And he grins, simply
knowing you. He suddenly awakens
but always elusive, memories.
"Military intelligence is to intelligence what military music is to music." - Groucho Marx