You said my name. It's a storybook story. You drank until dawn.
Mead Fire the Rapture of You
woodcutter's
ax in a stump
cozy cottage at
swallowtail hill
eating
your gingerbread
gretel and gretel
not a wolf in sight
we cry out to our orgasmic
wood forest
"holly!"
"hazel!"
"oh god goldilocks!"
your little red
riding hood finds
its way to the stream
where I go down to your
chestnut hedgelines picking off
the butterflies drowning in your nectar
proboscis sucking like a jayhawk me giving you
the fictional bird - rapture when the end times
recycle ecstasy converting your past into mead fire
the log-burning stove curling smoke from the chimney
in a sensual haven of peace and privacy does it not wet
the rim of mead fire oh holy drink of you swallowtail
During the 1960's a young soldier struggles with basic training, a bully sergeant and his own inner demons. A tale of struggle, redemption and survival.
Martin Powers wanted an ironing board for Christmas. Instead, he got . . . Matthew Kieler, a non-returnable gift, but a gift that kept on giving. A powerful tale of survival, compassion and unapologetic love in the time of AIDS.
Chip Bergeron
Ron
this is raw necator
ozzing dripping reflective
flesh to flesh
wing between wing
heart to heart
unextinguishable multiplicity!!
Lepidoptera Beauty
Vickie xo