Woman and Man

The male is not less the soul nor more, he too is in his place,

He too is all qualities, he is action and power,

The flush of the known universe is in him,

Scorn becomes him well, and appetite and defiance becomes him well,

The wildest, largest passions, bliss that is utmost, sorrow that is utmost become him well, pride is for him,

The full-spread pride of man is calming and excellent to the soul,

Knowledge becomes him, he likes it always, he brings every thing to the test of himself,

Whatever the survey, whatever the sea and the sail he strikes soundings at last only here,

(Where else does he strike soundings except here?)

The man’s body is sacred and the woman’s body is sacred,

No matter who it is, sacred – is it the meanest one of the laborer’s gang?

Is it one of the dull-faced immigrants just landed on the wharf?

Each belongs here or anywhere just as much as the well-off, just as much as you,

Each has his or her place in the procession.

(All is a procession, The universe is a procession with measured and perfect motion.)

Do you know so much yourself that you call the meanest ignorant?
Do you suppose you have a right to a good sight, and he or she has no right to a sight?

Do you think matter has cohered together from its diffuse float, and the soil is on the surface, and water runs and vegetation sprouts,

For you only, and not for him and her?

– Paul Cava



How does one become lovable; maybe it’s when we love and giving and maybe it when we so loved that admiraton is returned. 

It’s so hard to imagine about a life without you and how life could have been so different if we had never met. 

Learning to love someone as we do now takes time; the discovery of another, and it’s finding; of having been one of the greatest impacts of a lifetime. 

And I can’t even think about life without you now; it’s the one thing that I cannot even want to begin to imagine. I don’t want to. 

You’re the one constant; and my something; my everything; coming in with faithful words capturing my heart.

With a mind like an anthology, and full of knowledge; and it’s as if you have always known that words don’t have to be written in a book to be loved or understood. 

Wisdom is like love and it can be intoxicating, and I think it makes you even more lovable and to me that is plenty; plenty just like the stars above. 

Written in the Stars

Need you, because I want to 

Not because I have to,

Its a choice to choose someone,

To accept, and to be taken; loved

My one desire is you. 

To hold the taste,

In my hands,

Taking firm, hard,

And length, to be wanted

Is everything and rare,

Warm of desire, 

Passion of my passion. 

To hear you sigh,

Worship on bended knee,

The nectar at the ready,

Your pleasure, my purpose 

A vision with my own eyes,

I have seen it,

It was written,

In the stars. 

Where Poetry Comes From


How does one convey the adoration to the one she loves…

How does one express love, and to decide to choose that person…

Maybe it’s when they are able to give into their mind freely, 

To the sharing of mutual desire; when they become conscious and dream it,

Perhaps there is such a thing as true love, 

It’s a mutual admiration, respect, of giving, forgiving and affection. 

There are kinds of making love of the wonderful kind, its settling; calm,

Then there is ravaging raging animal instinct of pure raw fucking kind. 

The kind of passion where you desire no one else. 

The kind where at times you both give in your all and everything,

Could this be normal;  yes and yet some wonder. 

They say this is the kind of passion most writers and poets understand, 

It’s the ones write it, carry that knowledge, 

Maybe they are the ones who know because they share their experiences,

When they write of explicit love in lyric and poetry;

“Oh how I long for thee
To touch, to feel,
To break and bend,
Make me over and over,
Until I beg you my love,
And with all strength,
Everything that I am,
To what We will become,
To that thought of desire 
To attain the near impossible,
Yes my love, 
And to that passion, 
Comes the love,
And where the poetry is made. “


 I could retreat into you

As I breathe, just to take you in,

That’s when these moments come,

These are the ones I’ll live for,

To sleep in the palm of your hand,

Being a part of your life, how you inspire me,

Just the way you write, I love your poetry,

And be by your side, it’s enough,

How you fill my dreams with images,

It’s true, you live in my mind,

And dwell deep into my heart,


I Love You. 

Este e guacalulatata


Splashes of red, 

Full of curves 

Fluid Filling and bursting 

A beautiful image 

But so provocatively

How I wish to hear him pant, 

Whimper, moan and scream

A voluptuous fantasy, 

Covered in dew

Pre-maturely spitting 

Forth a stream

Dedicating this motion, 

To the notion, 

What it cost 

To have this dream.

Cut to fit



Tear me open, bring it on

What bright lights yonder may reveal

All the words and phrases

To describe it is but an attempt to give 

Beautiful form to thought,

Thought to fit this form 

A crave with a undying hunger

For your mouth, your flesh and bum

Life would starve without you 

For the life of me I never dreamt it

No judgement, just gaining insight

Hopes that I might understand

How can I possibly explain my feelings

But oh how your eloquence 

Excites me.