Just lie there, amazed./
Feel caressed like you’d wished. No./
She’s not satisfied.

2 red drinking cups./
2 napkins, 2 wrappers, scratch./
I didn’t but should.

OR
I didn’t. Should I?

An old cowboy/
with a non-porn ‘stash/
wrote lines about her eyes/
and a jersey cow’s./

Tho professing all thumbs,/
he sent reams/
of cleverness./
Happy trails/
2 her!

As I read history,/
I again c/
the same me,/
intruding where I shouldn’t b,/
pushed aside in2 melancholy./

No voice of reason/
lets me in./
1day I’ll c/
2 just b/
4 me.

Technology stalls./
Its crash should never derail/
Creativity.

I’m missing you huge./
Days and nights morph together./
You’re my dawn and dusk.

Thousands expected the end of the world (“Rapture”) to happen Saturday, May 21st, 2011. I didn’t worry about it, but thought about the “prophecy” and the “Rapture Weekend” after it didn’t happen:

Some await world’s end./
I spent that day with cool she./
We captured rapture.

She craves attention.
Write, call, text, ask her out, woo.
It’s still not enough.

Hot pads get turned on.
They await your sore stiffness.
Funny, I am, too!

OR
They await your stiff, sore back.

I heard your demand.
It seems a simple request.
Your shower’s too quick.