the need

the moon beckons
my thoughts, my needs, my skin

it is at times like this
when whispers become growls
and howling flesh
claws at the sedate and senseless
concrete coffin
in which i all too often repose

now when I feel
oh most sincerely, most sensually
the man in me
the primal carnal beast in me
chained too long
restrained beyond my wits’ ends

and I cannot give
a monkey’s about what it means
to don this suit
and mew over mealy mouthful
droppings of decorum
that daily masquerade as civility

now is the time
when this pricking skin stretches taut
over pulsing veins
needing to touch, to taste every
sweet inch of you
thrusting to fill you within

for this, too, is me
this is the very needful man in me

ever yours

this is the moment
that solace brings
in stillness sweet
when the breath
slows to a saunter
and the mind ponders
in playful paces,
no dragons raging
no callous cravings
to harden the heart,
just this serene skin
singing again songs
of Caledonia while
imbibing slowly drams
of majestic dreams,
that clearly recall why
willing I am ever yours

the dream

The sun was still rising.
I could almost feel it
moving across the sky,
but daren’t look for fear
of spoiling that moment.

It caressed my skin, my heart,
imparting warmly a need
to feel the grass tickling
the soles of my bare feet,
pebbles poking at my toes.

I laughed, for this was not
at all where I thought to be,
and yet it so magnificently
manifested sweetly a dream
I had ever sought in my mind.

This burn I knew unvisited
bade me disrobe and splash
my feet beneath its coolly
coursing surface sedately
draping water around my legs.

Isolated, yet never alone,
naked before nature’s beauty,
I stepped out of the water
and wandered wondering
through a pristine forest.

Beyond the trees, I found a path,
shimmering stones painted by the sun
and nestled in the grass,
warming as the day grew
calling me ever forward.

It was then I found the bothy—
simple wooden slats for walls
a small sturdy frame,
woven thatch for a roof,
standing empty, waiting for me.

But not just me, I dreamed,
and without calling out,
I stepped surely forward,
whispering tender her name
to the eager blossoms around me,

and opened the door.

A wee bothy in Scotland. (Pixabay)

flecks of blood

Flecks of blood paint the petals
of blossoms so bravely borne
across your most tender soul.

Your sweetly lips smiling hint—
by barest dint of this you and me feeling—
at mysteries never quite revealed,

even as time encroaching enforces
on mournfully pleading timid me
a most loathsome fate to accept.

Yet I refuse.

For in these thoughts all else abiding
I impermanent being, nonetheless
impervious persist in this:

that I do thee love.
And ever shall.

feed me

The growl that emanates from your throat
is hardly one of anger, I know,

for I sense the heat rising from your skin
and feel the tremors within me,

a trembling excited by this increasing need,
this feeding frenzy of ours.

Oh, be this ever enticing precisely prowling you,
carve your desire into my bare chest,

even as your words scorch my nascent soul
with new life that others fear.

Every day I am yours, wandering the streets
sweating across the sheets

of a once barren bed, bereaved yet reborn
beyond the scorn of heedless loss.

Tease me erect, grasping your hand firmly
around me, urging my pleasure.

For this moment has been one preying intent
above all else and all other need—

that you climb over my eager hungry mouth
and, my glorious love, feed me!

no warmth resides unloved

No warmth resides unloved.

When your fingers gently
trace the curve of my chest
rising and falling with each
shallow breath, playfully caressing,

I laugh and lace my fingers
through your silken hair
hanging most resplendent
across my cheek, my shoulder.

My eyes closed, I can feel
the approach of your mouth
lingering oh so softly slyly
just above my needful flesh,

ever playful and promising,
the moist touch of your lips
the barest hint of your tongue
teasing the flush into my skin.

Without looking, I can see
the whispered wonder
of your breasts pressed
against my arm reclining,

divining enigmas enough
in the heat of your body
bearing beautifully down
over mine in what was slumber.

Awaken, awaken, Love—arise
like the sun, like the moon
in darkness and in light
in blessed panting perpetuity,

for I, beggar that I am,
need nothing more than this
moment of blood coursing
flesh adorning adoration.

For no warmth resides unloved.

your voice

It amazes me yet
how defiantly this life
craves ever my attention.

Why me? When all
is said and needfully done,
why should I still be?

I have known lives
far better than my own
much more deserving.

With each passing day
the distance grows into
a petty persistent growl.

Another day, another year
as time selfishly scratches
across my aching skin.

Why me? Why drag
this fading soul through
angry scaly days to come?

I long…

for the noisy distance to end,
for time to bid sweet reprieve,
to hold, be held, be known—

to hear you with my skin.


this life once incoherent
babbling breathlessly
for want of truer form
does now so effortlessly
flow unfettered beyond
such transient bounds
as did cravenly broker
moribund me to define

now brazen I naked stand
undaunted by tyrant time
nor by man nor woman
more, for one—just one—
has emancipated this
once captive soul to stroll
wide-eyed and fair along
eternity’s blessed shore

if I could touch you

If I could touch you,
would the world stop
just long enough
for the Moon to giddy gasp
laughing a glorious song?

If I could craving taste
the very sweetest succulent
core of you, my tongue
teasing teaching you
how to moan for only me,

while shadows descend
ascending sensually stars
that bargain for just
a little bit more time
to spy the flesh of you?

For how else could they know,
how else could I ever
honestly know the highest
pleasure of being if not
for the quivering core of you?

If I could kiss you,
would time stop long enough
for me to thrust within
most inviting enticing you
and know the pleasures

of eternity?