Cyrano is not/
oft thoughtless nor speechless, but/
you awe me silent.

Haiku you about/

what we DID do? Now it’s through:/

How much I miss you?

Haiku you about/
what we did do? Now it’s through,/
how much I miss you?

Hot tub. Lay in snow./

Back into pool. Then hot tub./

That is snow laying.

Is there a difference between/

romantic and obscene?/

Hypnotic and erotic?/

Serene and clean?/

Poetically U’ll c/

a fine line falls/

between them all./

It’s your call.

What would you like/

from me tonight?/

And how?

and when?/

How about… now?/

Hard?/

 or soft?

Rapid?/

Or slow?/

It doesn’t really matter/

which way I go/

as long as you request/

what you like best.

If his kiss was not/
so blissful, I could see you/
hot-tubbing with me!

Ear ring and t-shirt/

left better memories than/

leftover stirfry.

I was wondering,/
as she was wandering, if/
she could text from Mex.

Thoughts of her
Like coffee, rich and pure
Flow through my veins,
And activate my brain.

She’s not a java bean
Grown high in Columbian mountains
But a living, breathing human being
Who opens my creative fountains.

I don’t need to get in line and stand
At a counter as a barista perspires
And order “Americana, double skinny, grande”
To be energized and inspired.

Her being physically close isn’t even required
To get my brain’s synapses connected and fired.