sfharper's profile

How will you, my lover ever imagine the faces and hearts that visit my palace-- urchin or limpkin, griffin or singing robin, which in your room would be a sterile office? My papers piled like the feathering of book pages, collaged like morning glory sky awakened, emotions painted in petunia-colored rages and the chaos of organization overtakened. The joining of our minds meets without space, that of our bodies with exotic tastes, thoughts shared like the gyrations of a marketplace. alternatin...

Not washing my hands but wetting them-- don't like the dust and dead wood feel of this ole wheelbarrow pushed by me. Pushed by me and me been pushed, gonna pull them weeds or toss some roots. Don't know why but dirt feels good. And the crick in the back don't hide. Don't hide the pain, don't hide from work it'll find you the same way drudgin all day. Someone will eat, some flower will bud and the lofty soft soil been dug up and threshed. That's the way it is for me, I been threshed out, worn ...

You're such a smoozer, cruiser Walking the line, talking for dimes Playing the hearts, after all, they're just tarts And you have a blade to gut them with, "but" ... "who me? I never said we". You're such a mongrel, wastrel, Lips that toke, lungs that inhale smoke, A sip to mellow, street as pillow and your have a thirst, to burst best wishes, empty caresses. Unquenched you use fear, jeer tell them they're queer, never tear, clench fists, thumb twist and we bruise, take abuse thinking you'll ...

How will you, my lover ever imagine the faces and hearts that visit my palace-- urchin or limpkin, griffin or singing robin, which in your room would be a sterile office? My papers piled like the feathering of book pages, collaged like the morning glory sky awakened, emotions painted in petunia-colored rages and the chaos of organization overtakened. The joining of our minds meets without space, that of our bodies with exotic tastes, thoughts shared like the gyrations of a marketplace. altern...

You Change Your Mind But I like it, like your game "the desire of the week" so linger in loving our new ways. And if I were to choose the desire of the month to be that of the star-- choose weak Lalande hiding at the end of the great bear. you must need healing, or cool red Mira, we'd kiss knowing the most beauteous, the deep passion after flame, or brightest Pleione, spinning rapidly, and we would dance, you and I, underneath an August night and all the games we'd play the touches of mind, h...