Its the place I go, when the world is cold and hard and I’m lost and alone. Our little house on the beach.
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If I was there
If I was there I would kiss you awake. But I am here, So I’ll hold your hand in my head and dream you next to me.
My shed
The sun on my face, coffee and cigar in hand, I sit, quietly, and for just a moment, for just a little while, the world stopped spinning and
Our future
We stood there, holding each other as tight as our own skin. Looking at the future, not sure what it held. It was large and full of
The sound of your words…
I moved closer to you, lean in and softly said : “Do you love me? Are you happy?” You turned, eyes smiling ;”Of course I Do. I love
In the moonlight
Again he caught himself staring as her dress slides from her shoulders, holding his breath just a little, as he had the first time he saw her naked
She…my wife
Your hands against my chest, your breath on my neck hold back the horror of each night. The smile in your eyes and the love in your
The Poem 6′
Memories are funny things. The concept of repressed memories is that a memory is unconsciously blocked by an individual due to the high level of stress or trauma contained
Memories
Memories: demons that hover, waiting for me to sleep. I spent years sleeping as little as one to two hours a night. I wasn’t afraid of falling asleep,
Victim?
I’ve never been comfortable with the term “victim.” I’ve never seen myself as a victim. I don’t know if I’ve ever seen myself as anything really. When