Reckless Lovers

Candles check.

Chardonnay check.

Roses check.

Not to downplay the foreplay

but second chances is only fair play

He thought so

So did she.

Without  reflex or resentments.

They toy with the notion

that sets it into motion

Before hand the thought of his presence brought commotion

discriminating bravado romance from reckless emotions.

lips plum  like cherry

inviting her to make merry

from monasteries in january

with groins so heavy

tensions released via missionary

Musky pheromones dance through her sinus

on a stale autumn night

all that is needed are

A dopamine high

An Aphrodisiac

His lingering fingers

Her hard nipples

The nape of his neck

the arch of her back

His broad chest

Her fluffy buttocks

His breath. Her breath. Synchronised

While vibing to Al Green’s, ‘sha la la’

Spinning on the vinyl recorder

till the first light of day spews through the velvet curtains

A Lover’s Quest

Your haughty eyes

Your formidable charm

I suspect you’ll  have more to unravel 

           I want you nowhere near me


       But when this last drop of wine           

                 lingers on my tongue

     perhaps you’ll  be more befuddled 

                   about my innocence.


The Shrine

Her hips sway to the beat of the banjo

Skylight filters through thatch roof

The flicker of light on a solemn night

A hue of blue shades her face

Her pelvis wines

In the center of the shrine.



The audience watch keenly

Such mastery,

Such art

From a beautifully dangerous woman

Like foreplay for their eyes.

Their unduly gander, in turn, solaced her.



She calms herself with each exhale

Invoking a fire

Attuned to her chakras.

This dance was passed down

Her grandmother to her mother,

Through generations

It was dubbed;

“the puppet and the serpent,”

For it reached into each heart

Those stubborn, frivolous hearts

Becharming them to her will.




Her body twists aggressively

as though strings attach to her

the one thing she excelled at,

it called to her

unlike the job she so dreaded

so society wouldn’t label her, a trollop

because people are threatened by anyone outside the box.



Each evening,

she polished her pearls

she donned her shawl

she’d burn the incent

and step barefoot into the shrine.



Night after night,

her lovelies would pour in

this was where she was meant to be

because even if the world passed away,

this was the one place she reigned as god.