I have observed most folks live
in houses palatial,
brightly lit
heated hot

very few live in homes
within warm blankets
provided by living souls
in human form,

we all are hypocrites
more than not, often

Sometimes,
on the frozen edges of old night,
I sit upon the back-door steps,
flakes of snow still wandering through
the yellow glow of back-porch light,
and in the frost-breathed dark,
dusted by a swath of watchful stars
crowding close around the house,
I hear winter's whispering wind
through the leafless snowbound oaks,
and it brings back memories of the sea
a thousand miles of lifetime away.

My heart is like an open book when it comes to you, I never thought any of my dreams would come true when it comes to you, now that I have you I don't know what better to do but tell you I love you, each and every day that I think of you, which is nonstop twenty-four seven my book of love to you is always open like a seven-eleven , in my book it begins with I love you and ends in I will always love you, so many pages so much love and it all goes out to you, you flow like a river in my brain, your always running through my head, no end in sight not from what I see, through the good and

I'm feeling frisky
Can we be a bit risky?
find some little alcove
and share our love
I've never been so brave
but you, right now, I crave
Is that a sound of condemnation?
No, cos here you are at my work station
You say "I need you to do some filing"
I outwardly moan but can't stop smiling
never has it felt so right
can't wait for more afternoon delight