I Don’t Speak Of The Dark Times

Photo by Erik Mclean on Pexels.com

I don’t speak of the dark times
For I don’t know how to describe
Numb from the constant rows
Beating my head against the tide

All the while, I’m trying to keep in step
Attempts to parry everything exterior
Concurrent remedies do nothing
Resulting in the residue of the inferior

Intentions to escape these trappings
Quietly absconding along the coast
Ambitions to enliven another day
& thus a creation of a ghost

A Wink from Her To Get My Heart A-Revving

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A wink from her to get my heart a-revving

Her pink negligee hanging below her knee

Soft skin turns into hardened intentions

The promise of a night of debauchery

A bouquet not desired, but a single bloom

Visions of adulation thoroughly taut

I’m rigidly attuned with her frequency

A fine suited man removing a Windsor knot

Fastened to my bedpost; a sailor can surely tie

Settling down with this libertine, methinks

A pretty picture of a delicious woman

Purely polished reflections in my cufflinks

Post coital; passion overflowing this room

Perfection amid people imperfectly real

Precious moments that I’ll never forsake

My woman’s love, allowing me to constantly heal