unsaturated the paint on my silent gal portrait, another writing piece dusted and remade-thank you

pounding Djembes

blistering fingers thrum chords of fire
are these the burning hands you know
the soul’s tempo like a copper pendulum, does gold resonate there
this virtuoso mouth of yours, has it stolen arias in vacant symphony halls
when lights are low and days have dimmed
has the rage of your wanting lips fingered around a contrabass anaconda
do motivations fade inside bitter notes when the maestros falter
is your wary body allegro when a feisty partner plays
do you weep for the swelling of spring songs upon winter’s death
written across sheets of white are ink spills to be erased
goat-skin Djembes thrust exotic cadence into hearts unprotected
does this pounding journey move along its own rhythm
or do lovers create your solos

Upright nude trio/charcoal

his Bess

I don’t think I’ll ever forget you
why, I’m not sure
I try not thinking of you
why, I’m not sure
I have thoughts of you
do you know
you must
my heart acts on its own
a precocious child
my brain is busied with too many other things
while my soul constantly seeks outer-body liberation
I dream too
there we speak of art, writing and show tunes
as a child I adored, Porgy and Bess
how I wanted to ride with determined Porgy in his wobbly goat cart
off to find his woman, his Bess
the dream goes on awhile
until the moon gets obnoxious and my eyelids flutter
but I never see your eyes
in my dream we never kiss
you have no eyes
nothing for me to gaze into
to know it’s real
the stars fade away to nothingness

I wake
baby gorilla
I get a lot of mileage outta this chimp. His eyes match so many of my words for pieces like this one. – thank you

on my knees

cropped Squantoon my knees
to paint your lips
the spectacular colors I’ve memorized
your touch my instincts imitate
when you are not with me
singularly intense
crushed virgin pigment

were I to add oil binders
cannot approach the depth of you
my canvas supplanted in rich hues
a mockery upon your exquisite mouth

word dining

skin-slick words
one sliding into the next
sinfully playing out thoughts
cinematic suggestions coupling
atop monochromatic unions
each time
honestly every time
my eyes are guilty
while my mind races
and my palms sweat

perhaps the solution is
rending those sultry words apart
pouncing above the serifs
visualizing beneath the descenders
disrobing the creator
but what would be the point
it is not the invisible writer
but my golden age response to
these enticing content seductions
perhaps too much fantasizing
contemplation of sensual mystery
whatever rationale is applied
I should not keep biting

but I fear the world
a bit more dull
if not dining on sensual words
and I’m a bit selfish
that way

Dress of Life

quickie sketch previously posted, but I think she appears slightly aloof –
perfect for when one reads erotica that turns their face red, even when no one else is in the room…

I sure hope my parents aren’t reading this stuff 😉