Poetry is the longest deepest reddest caress



The roses are blooming
I am assuming
You’ve seen them

So vivid
You can almost hear them
Bees they are grooming

When they lose their petals
we use their seeds
to make rose hips and drink rose hips tea

But that is in
winter and it
is still early May…


I hope the roses are blooming
Where you are to me;
My dear, unimmune to the moon;

So clear
like shorn raindrops
on yet roses…

A cute man!
Adventures, in Catamarans
Sleek, and smooth sea side entertainment…

Reach me?
A hand from Torino
to Londino


Wherefore art
thou Romeo?

His hips,
so soft

Let’s save him
and for later
lonely water:

your twelve daughters
have ached and pined
for the cute man


from Torino
just about the kindest
gentlest most empathetic

Italian you could ever meet
who doesn’t smoke
let alone on the toilet…

Tell him
Hello if…

View original post 20 more words

Leave a Reply

Please log in using one of these methods to post your comment:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s