B.R.Stateham's Page

Another whimsical poetical entry. Nothing serious, here.



Sunlight through light rain

plays across red nipples erect,

Your hair liquid gold.



Trembling our bodies respond

to passion's first jolting touch.

Surprised, I am, that some of you like my poetry. So here is an old one--




In your old blue eyes
I am still the smiling boy
with mischief dimples–

We hold hands and watch years pass
and love mellows like fine wine.

She was angry. This tiny bundle of two was tired and wanted to be held by someone--but everyone was momentarily involved and could not reach down and comply. Tired, rejected, and quick of temper, she explodes in a fit of crying anger. Her mother, in a gesture of momentary compromise, offers a peace offering of a small tidbit to eat. The imp--the angel--the cherub--takes the offered morsel, half turns to face the dining room entrance, lifts her hand gripping the edible insult up and then back ove… Continue

Okay, one more set of poetic tomfoolery, and then I'm done.

Tell me you love me;
Let ruby lips play across a sweaty soul,
kindling embers of passion smoldering.
\
Come my dear, under sheets of linen white
Scale, we will, lust's vaunted heights.