My fingers draw lines on skin that has none,
navigating a road not taken by a woman before,
where men have lost their way journeying over hills,
through valleys, on a path without signposts.
It is a landscape that offers no clues, just a silent
beauty that lingers long after I have conquered.

My hands are on the control panel
I could press stop or even pause
But I pass it to her hoping she knows
That I want the decision to be hers.

I have nothing clever to say,
no great statement to make,
if it is all meant to be then
I guess I've made my bed.
Life is moving at a pace
beyond my shortening reach,
I no longer care to judge or
or take the expected leap
of a faith long gone and a
life lived outside the norm.

There's a quietness in the room,
as the cat slinks her way across
my bed and just for a moment
you stir. Slow breaths permeating
the bed covers and touching my skin,
make it almost impossible not to slip
beneath and give a 'morning kiss', but
upon seeing your sleeping face, I resist.

Your eye, your ear, a part
of your nose, runs along the
lines of the sky and the rocky
seashore. It is how I see you
from where I sit, so close I
can touch you with my lips.

I sit, always watching

the wind push clouds

past my window.

Whispered company clings,

but not the trees

for fear of being uprooted.

(If I allowed them in...)

I shake it off,

look around the room

and smile-we are all friends.

Red seeps into black,

a wall of silence slips away.

Outside the rain falls

creating the beat by which

the droplets are formed

from the throws of our love-making.

The rain stops and sunshine
pours through the open window

and we lay still again.

You lay on top of me, above me.
Smiling down, I feel your skin
upon mine, and feel the moisture
that comes with it between my legs.
Control, with you, is not an option,
I lose it all at the very sight-
of you, my lover.

Aromas travel through the

house as she cooks a

favourite meal for me.

We have shared our food,

our life for seven years,

three of them free from

the troubles of years before.

Always a passionate affair,

now it has entered the quiet

time, where we can appreciate

each other's quirks and rejoice

in the labour of our ways.

I've taken another look,
physically walked to the mirror
and tracing the web of lines
around my left eye decide...

...You are right

I have thought too much of
what others think, I am not my
own person, as I have claimed.
You have set me straight.