Sexually fcked

Sweaty face packs to do wonders
For femininity of non-coy maiden
For her poor man who sings her differently
Prudishly
While ignoring weather, perfect to be naked in.

A thought triggered by some coffee talk.

You are why.

Must a muse inspire only art?
If style of life is form
And life, itself, content,
My life shall be the masterpiece, I paint.
A tribute shall it be
To serendipity
And you, the muse I met that day, at play.

Truism

One is truly just one.

An immortal stood here once.

As much of Earth as of the air,
withstanding droughts and gale-like gusts,
a few grey rings forgotten, faded,
invisible among the tar and dust
remind the hapless, observant eye
that here, long ago, an immortal stood once.