My coffee cup collection:/
A sad reflection/
of women traveling freely,/
who now go on without me./
When U flew back 2day/
I had 2 say/
I wasn’t bugged/
U 4got a mug.

Whats the difference/
between a stalker and a/
creative genius?

Did you fall asleep/
on your keyboard? Alphabet/
traces missing me?

Woman whose schedule/
doesn’t coincide with mine/
keeps me from slumber.

I entone gentle words that caress and woo.
I massage your brain and your feet;
and as you drift off from worldly view,
your relaxation’s peacefully complete.

Like blown sand in the desert;
like waves lapping the shore;
I’ll confess, I caress you best
where your soles, and soul, are sore.

It’s something I can do,
not something I must.
The question I have of you
is: Do I still have your trust?

For only then can my fingers erase
the worry and tension from your feet, hands, and face.

There she, at last, is!/
Bright ray of sunlighted bliss!/
I’m not meaning Sol.

Fainting foot photo fan/
fans frantically and frenzied,/
foolishly flound’ring.