She strung her lovely words in a necklace
Wrapped the strand round and round his beating heart
True tender grace, and yet wild and reckless 
‘Twas not a science but purely her art

Each word a pearl, much brighter than the last
One for lust, one for love, one for adore
Both fine gold and jewels her mind surpass
Her thoughts his arousal they do implore

But was it nothing more than a bangle
Baubles of words disappearing in air
Thoughts connecting able minds entangle
Not flesh not blood but still more to declare

Her words he wore proudly with defiance
A shining badge of their dark alliance


The Dance of Our Souls

Why did our souls choose each other to dance?
Like two comets that suddenly collide
Has to be astronomical the chance
Some higher meaning is surely implied

We danced through the night, we danced all the day
We danced as though time ceased, or so it seems
We danced our concerns and worries away
We danced the rhythmic dance of our sweet dreams

But was our dance a simple step withdrawn
Mere pas de deux in all now virtual
A tryst of souls soon to be buried and gone
Two mortals locked in past passion dual

No higher privilege ever been mine
Our souls memorized every step through time

A Midsummer Night’s Sonnet

Actors act upon the castle terrace
Shakespeare under beams of strawberry moon
Outshining even the star polaris
Such high romance! Men smile and women swoon

Story tells of revealing one’s love true
Under bright light of society mean
Love complicated enough by just two
And passion for those who reject us clean

But was it merely a midsummer’s dream?
The moon, the heat, conjuring in mind’s eyes
Imaginary actors and false scene
Nothing more than apparition reprise

I won’t contemplate this reality
Such perfection my sensuality

Her Words My Blood

What vital blood these sultry words of hers
Of what profound life passion they behold
Her beautiful stream of thought high allure
Coursing hot through my veins as they unfold

Her words not words but lifeblood of my heart
Pure lust without bounds and love with no end
Filling hollow muscles with prose her art
Resuscitation by her ink and pen

But how shall my heart beat beyond her verse
On what desires and cravings will it thrive?
Can death by other means be any worse
Than a heart dead of words and still alive?

Be that her seductive words be but thine
Critical transfusion her soul to mine