TO HIS MUSE

The Dublin ladies told to come

without their hoop skirts

and the gentlemen

without their swords,

and you, my muse,

come without your skirts,

unencumbered by all

that hides the flesh

and stops the free

flow of bodies in joyful

movement against

each other,

but I will bring my sword,

unsheathed, for one deep

thrust that gives no wound

but leaves you panting.

02.02.2025

DREAMING OF HIS MUSE

He dreams again of her

sitting on his lap, in

the bare simplicity of desire,

and him embedded

in her very being

in the slow swaying

movement of love,

entwined lust thrusting

towards the shared

coming of the lesser

death, from which his

flesh rises resurrected

to be embraced 

by her anew.

02.02.2025