Suburban Arcades & Record Stores

Photo by Daria Shevtsova on Pexels.com

Suburban arcades & record stores
Love notes left jammed in the teletype
Ancient technologies lost to whims of time
Sacrilege of consuming before it’s ripe

Littered by dreams of public-school poets
Falling to the feminine side of healing
Whose obedience to authority lingers
But only the lonely are rhymin’ & stealin’

Our literary antihero catching the cliff notes
A repressed childhood is still better by half
Trying to make up for that deleted time
But you can’t get far by writing on decaf

Standing with arms braced to the wind
Needing antiquity to know how we perform
Rolling empty dice against our loaded fates
Summer on the coast ensures the storm

I Love What’s Feminine

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I love what’s feminine for its own beautiful sake
Walking out into Mother Nature & breathing in Earth
I’m collecting thoughts & addicted to smiling
A deliberate course to truly live ever since my birth

Feeling the distinct notion of life’s pulse
To emerge from here unbroken & mostly unscathed
To seek out joy & embrace hope where it lives
A stroll in pure sunshine; to be regeneratively bathed

No longer shall I listen to competing voices
I’m going to soak up compassion until I’m through
Outside of the distractions, I’ll grow softer
Finding contentment admits love’s eternal residue

Image by pixel2013 from Pixabay

She Wore A Smart Suit

She wore a smart suit
Setting her apart from the rest
She was a fine specimen
Altered from her years out West

The tailor created perfection
It loved her feminine curve
The details you won’t miss
Feeling beauty in your structured nerves

Those blonde curls, nice & tight
Noticing underthings peeking through
Regaining my composure in time
Don’t want my excitement to be misconstrued

Image by Daria Nepriakhina from Pixabay

An Innocent Looking Soul

Photo by Rachel Claire on Pexels.com

An innocent looking soul
Draped with an ethereal gown
Confident strides across the patio
With Eve’s revenge
Crisp air – like the first bite of a green apple
Obscured; knowing her nectar to be my cure

I watch her bosom swell
It’s not objectivization
For I worship her
Refreshed in waves
This transparent Victorian hypocrisy
Knowing all that ails
& an unseen wound

Yet morning crests
Pale orange sky forces it’s way through space
In the arms of naked trees
I’m celebrating femininity
Spring’s arrival in a sundress
As she teases me with breathless recitals
Our love not by design
But still goes well with NorCal wine

Awake Early In The Naked, Teal Morning

Awake early in the naked, teal morning

Still wet from dancing in the rain

My subconscious kissing her femininity

But the memories remain love-stained

Her fingers gripping my shoulders

Our souls constantly trying to absorb

Soft, low moans quietly evident

I’m enchanted by her fleshy orbs

We’re exposed in the light of dawn

A realness that won’t be concealed

We have a glow of our own

No words exist, but a truth she can feel

A Woman Of Interest

A woman of interest

But she couldn’t comprehend

Dismissing my words

Like my missives of love could ever end

She called me droll & simple

But I yearned for her feminine pleasure

Astounding all expectation

The greatest of my Pirate treasure

Beyond all your common tales

This woman; finer than her humility

Beauty isn’t a logical equation

Though her logic doesn’t equal tranquility