My tat woven heart cedes here abodes, no more for me. Hence this hinterland haunt upon aged bared limbs less forgotten felled leaves. Mourn…

To the one who always gets away A gazebo appears as a furtive image adrift in the morning mist, a visual summons writhing within my senses. It’s a dream catcher, a bulwark of memory and aspiration where I’m bound to the romantic errands of unrequited desire. Yet, it’s comfortable there…

When is Hope Enough? Verse 1 There is hope in our warmth while the home fire burns bright. All snug watching soft Autumn snow drift through soothing moonlight. Lady and I sing November’s cradlesong while babies curl up to meet our gaze. Then a good night kiss and a wish of sweet dreams this Eve of Thanksgiving Day…

My home, while growing up, had a basement with a ground-level window that would open into two sections large enough for anyone to pass through. I was nearly twelve years old the first time I used it to sneak out during the night. Motivated primarily by a need for control…

From Now, for Liza. — You appear spellbound while probing. An elusive affect that stuns and wins success. I’ve watched you slip life’s conscious porticoes innumerous times, and when you’re freed of fetters you are still destined to stalk. Even in sleep investigation is your meditative vehicle. Your curiosity is contagious when you beckon me…

My friend abides. — I would celebrate my dark hour if you my friend abide. Perhaps share but one Moonflower to mend this somber eventide. Would you hasten me with Morning-glory having borne my tears, yet another time? Yes, we would celebrate even all the darkness while pouring forth new-found light. Just another little…

Insomnia cycle —

The scent of a lover. Midnight Turquoise Romance Painting by Bhawana Parihar Midnight Turquoise Romance Am I foolish to embrace this daydream? Does it shroud me in a chimera? Am I this transcendent muse within my head? I feel real! While this dream tells my heart I would endure all to dance with…

My healing path toward radiance. I tend to think, ‘The brain is a pretty crowded place with all those transactions.’ Those being epic big-bang proportioned instances and emptiness. …