Memories

A midsummer night’s breeze caressing tall, swaying pines will always be my favorite lullaby. 


Ancient roots, weather worn remnants of a once mighty goddess, are the cradle that holds my resting form. 

The moist loam that sleeps beneath an ageless canopy is home for these dirt streaked feet. 

Desires

Lay me down 
On the plush loam 
Of this ancient forest’s floor 

Float kisses across my skin 
While giants sway above
And the melody of 
A beaked orchestra 
Wafts through the muted silence 

Push me deep, down 
Into the earth
So I can be 
Reborn –  
Purified by pleasure 

The Witching Hour

The salacious beauties of night
Hunt in the twilight hours 
When the day, still new 
Is yet bathed in hues of blue


They thirst, these creatures
For the sinewy flesh 
Of men 

For the taste of lust 
Claimed minds 
And hardened bodies  

Beware, the witching hour 
Lest the sultry moans 
Of delicate voices 
Pull you from your path 

To stumble over log and bush 
Toward the sight of 
Your desires formed in flesh 
Bared shameless near 
The frothy bubbles
Of a forest brook 


Beware the witching hour 
Lest your soul 
Through lust become lost

Lost to the beauties of night
Who hunt in the twilight hours