she would usually fail
to look in on her mail
I am calling the poet named Eitel.
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Grown men appear to be….well, grown.
though without help of grown up girlsnot Kings or Emperors or Earlswould be much more than skin and bone.That covers body parts and suchlook at the mind though, it is muchtoo primitive and reptile-like,man either fights or takes a hike.He’s like a boy, so out of touch.When God invented hackles hedid not foresee the miserythat…
I laid my hand upon your breast
Your eyes were mine, your core was prestagainst me, hard, with urgent need.And yet we stayed in this positionlike frozen statues, all suspended.The Gods had said that the conditionfor lasting love that never endedwould be abstention at this time.Just close encounter of a kindthat does allow the lust to climbbut would stop short of intertwinedhot…
I shall, dear reader stop right here.
to be an inner, insecurebut outwardly so very sureand Lederhosenmusketeer.You note the number, yes of course,my pen is worn, its voice is hoarse.The magic three may never comewhich, in itself a princely sum,would ask the author for remorse.
The sound first startled him,
He’d always been a man who couldentirely rely on all of them,his cranial nerves, of which there aretwelve in all, his eighth, they called itstatoacousticus, and then the onethat always would alert him quickly,the olfactory, he’d pick old scentsfrom many years ago, refreshing memories,creating new adventures for his mind.It was, he realised, not a faint…
The cop pulled out his ticket book:
we realise LA has shook,earthquakes make freeways rather shifty.’‘We see that this blue B M Dubbcommands respect and wants to race.Yet it’s the law that is the rub,that’s why the two of us gave chase.’She pulled her licence from her bra,and gingerly, with trembling fingerswas reading C A L I F O R N I…
The fog rolls in,
The silence ofthe straightest treesthat do existon this sad globe,it numbs the senses,blunts the mind.A hundred metre dashto freedom,boldly askingand demanding,was it there justfor the taking?Shots fired,crackles thenand no more news,from hand-held radio,split seconds laterpainful soundsof real bullets.It’s further south,near the tall towerby the river.Welcome distractionoff we go, I lose a shoebut cling to it,the…