She had angel wings upon her back..
She had Angels wings upon her back.. Her long auburn hair rolled down her long slender back. The tattoos Angel awoke secret dreams and nightmares. Her tattoos rolled down from soft neck to… Continue reading
She had Angels wings upon her back.. Her long auburn hair rolled down her long slender back. The tattoos Angel awoke secret dreams and nightmares. Her tattoos rolled down from soft neck to… Continue reading
Sometime we must steal and loan kisses… Beautiful lady arrived at the Austin’s tavern at twelve trying to escape the Texas Summer heat. Once she wanted everything and more, now she need the… Continue reading
The gin and juice lullaby… Once we stripped bare naked and we showed real face and real skin. You were fire and I was water. My greed was to steal everything I could.… Continue reading
Miss you, need you… I am drinking alone beautiful Jennifer. Somehow I forgot where Texas was and I am so damn lonely. I have called you at midnight, every night for a week.… Continue reading
(Dearest Nicole told me. The vastness of everything. The vastness of nothing. What is real? We must decide.) Dearest Nicole.. I befriended her at a strip-club. She was the dancer with the far-away… Continue reading
Letters in my pocket.. I was a soldier for 15 year and I made friends with the people swimming in chaos. I befriended bartenders, drunks, strippers and kind women. My favorite women were… Continue reading
Dear Sara Little Wolf… Once a pretty Ojibwa gal stole my heart and my thoughts. Her coffee brown eyes and golden brown skin made me wish to swim in her kind and gentle… Continue reading
One whiskey, one beer and a Cuban cigar.. ( April is poetry month. This is poem number twenty-six.) Was a pretty Texas gal smiling at me. She purred like a kitten and I… Continue reading
Please come to me on a Summer day… The prettiest gal in Texas told me. Please come to me on a Summer day. We can drink the Summer wine and we can dance… Continue reading
Hemingway whiskey.. ( April is poetry month. Poem number eighteen.) Old man wrote into his journal, My secrets, my sins, my indiscreet deeds. Will never be written or spoken aloud. They would die… Continue reading