Never good at games

Where hearts are played like poker

I’ll make my own rules




Pick your sweet poison

Add a mixer of kisses

Heart shaken not stirred




Writers are insane

Don’t let the sweet smile fool you

Canine teeth are sharp




Biting into you

Probably not the best way

To make a new friend





The sign language of distance

Over the ocean




Palm trees paint the sky

Fronds brushing the horizon

In evening contrast




Ghosts of poets past

Haunt the margins of my page

Poking my stanzas




Sun prods me awake

The cocoon of my hammock

Births a butterfly




To hell with polite

Shock me with your honesty

And I will thank you




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