Lovers in Paris.
Lovers in Paris. She whispered to me, “O my love, O my love. Make me feel alive. I plucked a rose for us today and I told the red rose. Where had my… Continue reading
Lovers in Paris. She whispered to me, “O my love, O my love. Make me feel alive. I plucked a rose for us today and I told the red rose. Where had my… Continue reading
Midnight toll. 1- We shall pay the midnight toll, where the sin, the gin and the skin always needs more. Where strangers begin friends, where friends become strangers. Under an cloudless night, two… Continue reading
The stranger song Pretty lady asked her old lover. When did we become strangers?Once we talked, danced and sang the whole night through.Now we sit together. Your eyes had died and your hopeful… Continue reading
Free bird. The journey. We built our love upon straw and paper. We didn’t know love could be set on fire, burn and be forgotten when the straw and paper dispersed to the… Continue reading
The last time I saw your face, my kind friend. I remember. When we are blessed with youth and vinegar. We don’t know. We have few mentors and people who shall love us.Today,… Continue reading
The first time I saw your face-Two short poems. ———1- Paint me Elegant lady told me. Life is hard and the night is long my love.We must bathe in the kindness of the… Continue reading
Song of love. Drunkenness in a reckless love, knowing the true fragrant of love.The blackness of love, the whiteness of love.The dead love, the alive love.The desperate love and the forgotten love. He… Continue reading
Pretty words. 1- Dangerous beautiful lady in her tight black dress and wearing chain of amethyst crystal upon her neck. Was my crystal once and she wanted it more than I did. She… Continue reading
She told me. Love demand payment. Perfect beauty. Wearing Summer dress of white. Her soft shoulders showed tempting kiss and caress. She knew she had my attention. I watched her sun-kissed legs of… Continue reading
We had the month of May, once. Pretty gal from Italy told him by the Monterey Bay, the pipe dream poet, he isn’t poetry, he isn’t love, he is cursed, cursed to live… Continue reading