Tentative Poet Poems

Slantly filtered through frosted glass
Defines pastel walls, rumpled pillow cases
The solid black of the headboard
The tower of books by the lamp
...

Why is this happening?
She asks the wallpaper,
A patch of sunlight
Caressing its surface.
...

The sounds you make, my darling, each time we get our kicks,
Shall make our neighbors envious, should they get to hear them.
Your screams and cries of pleasure, the way your sweet voice pricks
Straight into my ear canal and trembles my tympanum.
...

In the library this afternoon,
while I sat waiting for my muse
to sneak up behind me and
touch me softly on the shoulder,
...

The fading colors of the playground,
Cries out to be abused,
Oh, with such inviting sounds,
How can anyone refuse
...

I feel you pressing against me
the heat of your passion scalding
where mine has fled the scene
turning the body automaton
...

perhaps it's the way
the towel hangs
just so
on the stuck-on hooks
...

The man sits, angle-poise on a low table
throwing light, dim orange, onto the book
he holds in his bony fingers.
...