We kiss. Juices mingling, his skin hot against mine. I kiss his cheek, then down to a warm neck. Lips brush velvet skin, tongue tracing a moist line along the pulsing heaven of an artery buried beneath. A hoarse whisper escapes his throat, begging for more. Does he know what he asks? I think not, but who would want to disappoint such a needy, yearning being?....not I...

I pull back, drowning in the heady scent of lust and lifeforce. The draw is too strong though, I cannot fight it, do not want to if truth be told.

A collection of poetry and prose submitted to VO in 2002.

January 13, 1994 (Yankee Magazine) - The villagers of Exeter, Rhode Island, knew that farmer George Brown had a problem. First, in 1883 his wife, Mary, succumbed to a mysterious illness. Six months later, his 20-year-old daughter, Mary Olive, also fell ill and died.

Chapter 5

THE RE-BUILDING

 

I'm turning away from thy light
and lay myself into blackest night
I adore the sleepless nights
awe this endless death
A view of creation are a view of Illusion
this synopsis of sublife
a start from mud
But here I'm as anyone a part in this play
of neverending lives
of remembering it all over again
Hail to endless night away from the ugliness of the sun
showing the ugly new world growing here
all around us
A world taking away personality and human contact
a frozen lake of endless tears
and in endless pain