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Humor, delight, and love.

Autobiography of a Poet



The first time I tried it

I approached cautiously

Uncertain; hesitant; timid.

To place my tongue, my lips

To this. To put it inside my mouth?

But bravely I took it in my hand.

And clasped it firmly, to hide my fear.

Then. What joy! What bliss!

I must admit, that with

That initial caress of my tongue,

As it quickly darted out. Then

Retreated behind the safety of my lips,

I fell. The feel of it. The taste of it.

Even the look of it. With my all I fell

in love. If love is what you call it.

When you can't get enough of a thing.

And I could not. From the smooth

Silky surface to its parts which retain

Rough spots. Whether soft or hard.

How enraptured I become, as I

Glide my tongue across the head.

And how neither twirling my tongue

Around its circumference, nor dragging it

From base to top, ever truly satisfies.

No. But, taking it wholly within

My mouth then drawing

Slowly, slowly up. Brings me

Delight. Rapture. Ecstasy.

Then that glorious culmination, when

Completion is at hand. As I sit with white

Cream drying on my lips, dribbling

Down my chin, And wonder anxiously

When I shall be allowed the experience

Again. For this you see is my weakness.

My shameful delight. My naughty passion.

For it fulfills my desires. This sinful sensual loving of

                   ...A vanilla ice cream cone. 

The First Time Touched


It wasn't the first time touched by love

I screamed in bliss.

Nor the brushes with its sweet tongue arouse.

But three times coming did I understand,

The hot wet touch of ecstacy.

Which for compassion's sake was short lived.

Lasting but moments, seconds,

Out of time.

It swept through me

Electrifying my body, controlling my movements.

Distorting my perceptions and leaving me

Panting, wasted, drenched. Behind.

From my nipples tortured points.

To my woman's wound.

Which between my thighs lay pulsating.

And the puffy, aching lips.

And me surrounding, clasping, gripping.

That which within me wept its pleasure.

No, it was not the first time touched by love,

Did I reach the heavens.

And drench myself with passions spent words.

For having tasted, I did yearn for more.

And having learned, I then turned to teach.

And having loved, I did delight complete.



When I look my worst

A beautiful woman she sees.


When I'm being terse,

My voice gives her ease.


If I'm not chosen first,

She'll go after the referees.


For she looks at me with love, in her eyes.


If I am in the wrong,

And my argument bares no fruit.


Or make a grown man cry,

And go toe to toe with some big brute.


She will be in my corner,

Telling me, I'm still cute.


For she looks at me with love, in her eyes.


Sarcasm, arrogance, and aloofness,

Are coats I often wear.


Yet, she digs through the layers,

To the true heart which is there.


And when I'm feeling alone,

Fearful that no one truly cares.


I know who to call...

the one who looks at me

with love, in her eyes.


(This is dedicated to my Aunt Honey Ba' who has always made mefeel like the best.)