long slow tender sensual sex,
lips hungry for mine.
The sound of rain in the night,
wrapping the earth in stillness.
walking in the frozen sunrise
with my old dog by my side.
Climbing Hawksbill on a spring day,
looking down over the gorge in awe.
barefoot, planting a garden,
believing in the sun and the rain.
Playing an old Gibson on the porch,
deep rich tones lost in the breeze.
the taste of good bourbon, and a smoke,
paying tribute to the sunset.
Standing by the stone in a cementary,
talking without words, still heard.
writing poetry with a shovel,
and a borrowed pen…
Flying with the hawk to eternity,
sprouting green leaves
on frozen branches… listening
for the sound of your voice…
In the dead silence of the heart.
long slow tender sensual sex,
lips hungry for mine.
the sound of rain in the night,
wrapping the earth in stillness.
walking in the frozen sunrise
with my old dog by my side.
climbing Hawksbill on a spring day,
looking down over the gorge in awe.
barefoot, planting a garden,
believing in the sun and the rain.
playing an old Gibson on the porch,
deep rich tones lost in the breeze.
the taste of good bourbon, and a smoke,
paying tribute to the sunset.
standing by the stone in a cementary,
talking without words, still heard.
writing poetry with a shovel,
and a borrowed pen…
flying with the hawk to eternity,
sprouting green leaves
on frozen branches… listening
for the sound of your voice…
in the dead silence of the heart.