Our thing is a beautiful game,

We play it so well it’s untamed,

A perfect start so simple,

The needs we have is criminal,

Poker faces full of lust,

We played the game till dusk,

Your hands on me,

I am open, my wants free,

You’ve come for me it’s explicit,

Our Hands, bodies and souls clasp,

In a state of awe as we gasp,

Face to face for ever we stand.

My words with art by @louijover





Needing that evasive substitution.

Believing it was the only solution.

Was the preface of this dramatic evolution.

Starting with emotional prostitution.

Followed by a mirage of poetic circumlocution.

Luring the others who give love in restitution.

But the in house war showed no signs of diminution.

This town was not going to offer a peaceful resolution.

The landlords would find a way for retribution.

So she fled loves persecution.

Leading her to face destitution.

And so began the beautiful revolution.

That led her to her own absolution.

My words written to art by Yossi Kotler




Stretched horizontally, from back to front,

Across the larynx they vibrate over and beyond,

Modulating the flow of hot air being expelled,

Belting the over bearing chaos withheld,

Deep from inside those acid filled lungs during phonation,

Expelling the licking flames of damnation,

Just saying no is not enough, sometimes.

It needs to be screamed out, sometimes.

They have hear you clearly with zero doubt, sometimes….

My words with art by @davidlscholes




Each soft black strand dangle openly.

Like the branches of a weeping willow tree swaying over her river bank gracefully.

They used to yearn to touch the stars.

Perhaps even be bold enough to kiss mars.

The depths of the oceans always seemed too shallow.

To quench the thirst on her pride that she could never seem to swallow.

What was taken from her was scandalous.

The weight of the emptiness left made her feel ravenous.

Searching for that missing piece she could not remember.

Luckily the taste of it kept her in her centre.

As she stands freely by her river bank.

No longer full of tears she cried when she sank.

She holds onto herself in perfect harmony.

Feeling the strands of her hair tingle the tunes of possibility.

She finally knows she has found that missing melody.

It was never lost but hidden in her entity.

Her cure was inside, she was her own remedy.

Life may begin for she is no longer in pain.

Finally coming into her own, she is whole again.

Poem by Me to accompany this beautiful painting by @sannaahtan




Whistling, the wind carries the love call.

Deafening, the echo opens their door.

Innocence, the past wrote on the rebuilt wall.

Blinding, their love always stood on the floor.

Spiraling, their truth began the brawl.

Sweetness, their mouths tasted no more.

Reality, this one doesn’t need a curtain call.

@sugaroc Sarah Martin