Author: Frank Watson

I am as a calf feeding on the wild earth naked and clothed old and young living forever before sin, before the fall, here at rest in your innocent arms

Dreaming of your bosom, I slip into the soft night, painted by a brush with the gray moonlight. Silk and satin, covering my gaze like curtains that hide the embers of desire— you smile at my madness. Each pulse begets the night, and each kiss …

In a house beyond the woods she lies with the sun, immersed in the light that filters in through maple leaves. Child of light, she climbs the hills of sight, leaf-by-leaf, strung up along a river lined in green—but the water does not move. Summer’s …

Filling me, the scent of cedars and pines along the rocks of centuries, the beaches of summers that have never ceased. Sometimes soft, sometimes hard, a dance of water and stone in the murmur of soulful woods. In ancient times there were kings and knights …

Halting hands, a kiss that misses the mark, discarded as a thrift store donation. Always the view turns in this kaleidoscope world, the skin of her and I as one. I journey through the shadows to join a congress of fire, and melt into the …