And here's the second...

On Riding Through the Night

I have a secret lover,
Steel-hearted, supple-limbed.
In quiet, veiled shadows
watching… waiting…
For short sordid passionate sex
Or long, slow, loving embraces.

Others, newer and sleeker,
Rush by; never understanding
The quiet rhythm. The soft silent
footfall,
As we walk and run together in time.
Or how when my blood runs hot,
Coursing through throbbing, purple veins
She becomes the pouncing tigress.

She and I will never be one.
But she understands that sometimes—
Two is just as much fun.

A recent return to an old habit

To all my adoring fans (and all those who exist outside the realm of my imaginary worlds but deign to read my blog) I have been away for a while. I have failed to post for more than a week now for various reasons that I will not bore you with. But, good fortune (or bad) has given me reason to come back to blogosphere. I present to you, two recent creations, "Sweet Nothings" and "On Riding Through the Night". Only the first appears on this post. The second follows seperately, in the vain hope of garnering more comments. It goes against everything I've begun to feel about relationships of late, and is perhaps a last dying attempt by the irrational romantic in me to convince me otherwise.

Sweet Nothings

Some men speak with their fingers;
A deft touch, a gentle caress.
Others let eyes do their wonders,
Measuring breasts, the more and less.
Most, for tradition or from a lack
of social ability, simple tact
Let large mouths make a fine mess.

With so much variety,
A single voice for eternity;
(or even half so long)
Seems dreadful, wrong.

But eyes and lips, hands and feet
All have a way of repeating.
Dancing that old beat
Each Saturday evening;
Of little consequence,
When that sweet silence
Can choke you on a Monday morning.