DAWNRIDE

horseadnleg02

WayneSL 1990

My breath smokes out past eyes that roll toward your scent
mixing with the steam that rises from my flanks,
the blanket off.

My nostrils flare to catch your musk,
my haunches twitch
and I await your mounting.

Grip firm the horn to gain your seat,
leg high and heave
to settle in my saddle.

Ride me as a well-bred dame her stallion does:
shoulders open, back erect and arching,
posting high and hard.

Let me gallop to start and to work up a lather,
and stand in the stirrups awhile and then
taking a fist full of reins and mane

clamp your thighs and force me to a rolling  canter,
holding back the trembling tension
eager for the sprint,
and then we

take the hurdles as one creature,
flow and surge through turn and straight,
strain and ache together ‘til we
catch sight of the final gate.

Now in furious headlong flight
we hurtle down the homeward stretch.

Bend low to taste my salty mane.
Hear the roaring of my breath.

The pounding thrusting gallop throws us forward to the precipice
until with one last lunge we leap the river
and for one eternal moment
float outside of time and space.

My flanks and your legs
brushing bushes and tall grass
sweat and dewdrops mingle

heaving chest and pounding pulse
settle to a glowing bond.

Thunder echoes
deep vibrations
shiver, crest and tingle:
wind-blown ripples on the pond.

MAJESTIC

In Marble Halls

WayneSL 2013
a vision shared

You float through the room,
majestic in your steady flow
yet fluid in each sensuous step.
Your sheer gown loves the glass-smooth marble floor
a wave in the wake of your tender toes.
My gaze is captured by the gentle curve of your thigh
rising to a graceful half moon.
Yet full, being double.
Through the gauze I see the dimple
come and go as you move.
Your geisha hair frames a solemn-seeming face
yet thereon lies a hint of smile
which does not lie
is not painted on
is born within
borne by thoughts and feelings forged in fire
to beckon me into your wake
and so I swim behind this lovely vision
to the chamber of love.
Therein you take seven months to slip the shroud
from one soft shoulder to your breast
and I can scarcely breathe
to see the next and the next and your collar bone so fine
the gentle rise of your smooth, spare belly
and your navel and still other signs of your humanity.
Your nipples loved the slipping misty cloth
and stand erect to crave another touch.
I caress them with my eyes
until it’s time for more.
As the shroud falls farther past the fertile hips
and valleys hiding streams within their depths
I tremble just to leap into your river, yet
I dare not still to draw my ready sword
in reverence for your gentle revelation.
Onward and off the shroud more quickly falls
your lovely legs the pillars of a temple
where ardently I soon shall give my all.
The pool of silk around your feet lies spent
the treasure it had guarded now revealed
and I cannot stand longer but must kneel
and beg your leave to enter with my steel.

Hard-on Her-shelf

scream

to be read aloud- not for the eyes alone

WayneSL 1988

She’s
clearly stated,
lamb-innate-dead,
full-did, stay-pulled,
mute-ill-aided.
Her
over-raided
hair is plated,
care-full color
punk-chew-ate-id;
thin, sharp loins
suck-singly sated.
Tho’
she in her-nest
met-hid-dated,
won-tied meat-who
fill her jaded
cave-urn up, she
weak-need hated,
met-dick-ate-head,
then be-rate-dead.
In
steel and glass her
heart/womb crated.
Now
from her four-tress
priss-on fires the
flaming bolts of
quenched desires
and suffers more than
lone-lie-nest

On My Mind

The mop and bucket I use for my workouts

The mop and bucket I use for my workouts

FaceBook wants to know what’s on my mind.
Why the hell is ANYthing on my mind?
Must be SOMEthing on my mind to get me out of my warm (too warm?) bed
to stagger around a dark, quiet house.
I must have something
in the shadows
of the back of my mind
bugging me.
It’s in there with the extra box of macaroni
gathering dust like that jar of peanut butter.
Why the hell am I awake at 3AM…
is what’s on my mind.
What’s on my mind? Is what’s on my mind.

I used to crave Peter Pan smooth peanut butter.
I’d eat a whole jar in a few days.
Now this same jar has been there for months
against the back of the cabinet
creeping toward its expiration date
unopened.
Sometimes I feel like that.
The clock and the calendar never pause, never rest,
and yet I must.
The sun will rise and I will go to work in a few hours
whether I am rested or not
whether I am ready
or not.

Beneath me the tile floor is sticky.
As I stumbled barefoot around the living room just now
I found the area where last night I spilled a whole glass of sweet wine
the cheapest sherry I could buy
but the glass didn’t break.
I usually have to pick sticky shards of broken glass out of the mess
but not last night.
That was good.
So I went looking for the steam mop
and luckily I couldn’t find a clean pad for that lame little toy.
Nearby was the commercial-quality mop & bucket I knew would do the job
so I put some water in it and rolled it out here
and made quick work of the puddle
which was larger than I had first thought
and now I know that it was larger still
because the little bit of water and the little bit of mopping
only spread the stickiness around and thinned it out.
So now I’m going to go and get that same bucket
that same mop
and take it to the bathroom to fill it to the top
with hot water.
I’m going to roll it out here and shove the furniture aside
so I can really work out with that mop
Swabbie Style.
The Navy is tattooed on my back pages.
I’m going to do one thing I know I can do and do it right.
and maybe then I can crawl back into my too-warm bed
next to my too-tired wife
and hope for sleep.