My dearest muse..
My dearest muse.. You are love and I’m no-one. You came to me with your haunting words awakening the want of love, the dance and the song. Your gentle voice awoke my dying… Continue reading
My dearest muse.. You are love and I’m no-one. You came to me with your haunting words awakening the want of love, the dance and the song. Your gentle voice awoke my dying… Continue reading
( April is poetry month. Poem number thirteen.) I saw the sun in your eyes.. ( You let me love you. I knew I was blessed.) I long for you when you are… Continue reading
( April is poetry month. Old poem never published from 2017. Poem number nine.) The Texas two-step.. He saw her sitting alone sipping her drink slowly and her eyes were barren and so… Continue reading
( April is poetry month. This was never published. Written in 2017. Poem number eight for April. Yearning eyes.. A beautiful and sacred morning led me to you. You were California beautiful and… Continue reading
( April is poetry month. This is poem number seven. Never published. Found in a journal written in 2017.) Under the willow tree. We danced.. Once we held love over everything. Love was… Continue reading
My secret life.. I was your boss and teacher once. We shared hours in a locked building. I adored your long legs and auburn hair. Your perfect body unable to be hidden, made… Continue reading
My masterpiece.. Once blushing beauty stole my heart. She create a rage of need I never knew. She found me sitting alone by the Boeblingen lake and her river blue eyes stole everything… Continue reading
1-YouYou make me want things I cannot have.Your sweet words making me wish for placeswere I can be free and wild.Knowing no control and swimming in your eyes. 2- SecretsI want to tell… Continue reading
Sweet pleasure and rare delight. A Poem by Coyote Poetry Some memories become sweeter with time. Written in 1992 Sweet pleasure and rare delights.. Sweet pleasure, rare delights.Some dreams should not be touched.They will… Continue reading
Bridgette wrote.. Painted words are what the writer understand. Wisp and grasps of sweet dreams are the last myth of emotions for love and words. Dead writer in the Winter of his life.… Continue reading