boy with a hat

I mean to say that I say what I don't mean.

The Mathematics of Love

Vector art numbers

First calculation:

1 in love


1 in love


3 or more together,

for lovers shall reproduce.

* Read the rest of this entry »

Lady Death, Good Night

Midnight December- An acrylic painting by Manisha Bhatia

If on a moony night

Around the witching hour,

While the weeping willow stoops before my window,

And the mournful wind wails on the rooftop,

Lady Death creeps out of the shadows

And shows up in my room,

And glides to my bed,   Read the rest of this entry »

If You Bathe At Least Once A Week, You Must Read This

Woman in the Tub by Lee Price

Woman, when you bathe you think you are alone,

But it is not so.

In a shadowy corner,

On a silky web,

A tiny spider gapes,

His eight eyes fixed with fascination

On your soapy nudity.


Read the rest of this entry »

If You Don’t Mind, I Would Like To Be Your…

Woman On A Chair

To be alive and breathe and move

And eat and drink and speak

And read and write

Is mighty fine indeed,

But when I think of you,

I would prefer to be inanimate.
Read the rest of this entry »

To A Reader Of My Blog With Whom I Am Secretly In Love

Woman with Umbrella Painting

In my wildest fantasy you are walking on the street

On a rainy day,

Wearing not a miniskirt

But tight black jeans,

Carrying a fancy umbrella in one hand

And your smartphone in the other,

Your browser open to my blog,

Which you read with keen attention,

So much so that you’re utterly oblivious

To the tripping danger you are in:

Alas, your shoelaces are undone!

Read the rest of this entry »

Woman, may I compare you to a rose?

SayuriEyes on DeviantArt

Woman, may I compare you to a rose?

The rose is short.

You are tall.

The rose is narrow.

You are shapely.

The rose stands still.

You move, you are liquid grace.

Read the rest of this entry »

50-Word Stories #138

(c) Jean Bradbury

The little boy sneaked into the orchard and scrambled up the tall cherry tree.

The branches poked him in the ribs.

The wind buffeted him.

Up he climbed, undaunted, toward the ripest cherries.


The boy lay sprawled on the grass, gazing at the victorious cherries, so high, so distant…


Read the rest of this entry »


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