how deeply i breathe now
spine wilting into cushions
tired feet splayed over silk

nocturnal neighbors congregate
these careless crickets chorus
me their general salutations

just there, this ceramic vessel
that readies my urgent mornings
with well steeped honeyed tea

these shelves profusely populated
by illustrious companions whose
tales have tantalized my imagination

such familiar sights and sounds
invite my weary thoughts to slumber
as they do each and every night

and yet, most essential is this:
her words so warmly wrapped
around my ever eager soul

no greeting calls me further
no voice so delicate speaks
of laughter and music and love

when now these eyes do close
her face will wondrous remain
to smile my fondest reverie


First strides in love
so often follow no path
at all, being inclined
to curve, to ascend,
even to descend
as the will of passion
pursues so fervently
the greatest pleasure.

How odd it must seem
as time invariably passes
that the desire to please
becomes subsumed
beneath the need to placate,
for passion’s mightiest
howls fall benign beside
the need for peace.


I am so weary of the pain,
exhausted by the all too
evident progress of decay
that encompasses this
bitterly physical life.

The very sensual being
that I had once reveled in
has betrayed me, left me
to rot on jagged angry
and most sullied stones.

There are nights when
cringing in injury
I crawl into bed and beg
the gods for something
like a decent rest.

They laugh at me,
but then of course they do,
so true is the course of life
that pleasure must inevitably
give way to the inescapable.

I close my eyes and breathe,
and breathe again, listening
to patterns of pathetic
failure, organic structures
struggling to find peace.