In light of tension twixt
brinkmanship rumbling one
East Asian Tiger
country otherwise known as
"the land of morning calm,"
yours truly t'will invite
"freedom foo fighters"
tubby regaling with a jubilant aire
total mortal Kombat
levels threat of human warhead
bomb dubbed "Fat Boy.”

I never want to escape the blissful enthrallment,
Of the way thoughts of you lead my spirit to soar,
So this is so yet another of the poetic instalments,
Of how you rock my world every day to the core.

As I dream of you I lie in bliss for hours and hours,
Conversing with your soul awakening my inner self,
Yet predicting the future the card is always the tower,
The fragile foundation of my mental emotional health.

MY NEXT LIFE

These last five and sixty years
Mainly tears and little laughter
Yet after all this time, I’m sure
That more of this I don’t deserve
A curve in the direction of time
To climb up to the higher plane
And again, I shall wonder why
If I cry, nothing seems to change
So strange, the next life beckons
And reckons I am due a break
At stake, my long held dreams
It seems they may become real
I feel ready, and willing to see
And be grateful for my next life

Ah! Sunday morning
I lay late in bed
A cold winter blows
Summer lies dead.

I roll on my side
Feel her warm body there
Soft as lambs fleece
Long golden hair.

To gently caress her
Slow rouse her from sleep
Let fingers trace patterns
From face to her feet.

Puff into her shell like
Kiss satin smooth throat
Move down to her breasts
She outs a small troat.

Now she awakens
Turns languidly o'er
Voice husky with passion
'Your turn to make the coffee'.