Drowning

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this coffee taste lingering…

I don’t want 
coffee without
sweetness added
nor without cream
I do crave decadent tastes
blonde roast is pleasing
when the summer sun
delivers golden hues
yet this winter 
speaks of dark medium
bitter brew
an endnote I am unsure
how to end…
yet I keep sipping it 
hoping to burn my tongue 
of familiar flavors
but than doesn’t happen
when you keep using the same
methods and beans
I don’t want my coffee 
without sugar or cream
but I am tired of this 
flavor and the same results…
the weight it delivers to my
hips and mouth and my throat
it only screams for 
freshly brewed 
vibrant bold
MSB ©2017

Sundays…

Just a few of my Sunday essentials…

The sun streaming through my window, my quiet spot, cafe au lait, pen and paper, love in my heart…

It’s not finding you
that has frightened me
it’s the possibility of me
which frightens me
the why of me reaching for you 
this heart beating & charged
taken in by your elements 
falling deeper
into breaths of you
intimacy and necessity 
finally finding me
bringing me to life…

existing as this
without you



I am in the  process of creating my writing corner. My desire like so many others poets is to publish a book of my poems (bare little pieces my soul). I believe preparing the right state of mind, establishing a hide away, creating a space for your heart to unfurl , tucking your soul into the sweetest spot is essential to making this happen…

I am getting there

❤️M

MSB ©2017

I am…

Its unfortunate 
so many wear
filters and blinders
only to search for certain
markers and miss out on
far richer and deeper 
beauty in the process
I appeal to very few
if anyone anymore
this heart
this body 
this mind
this age
this soul
is worth more
than a drip
and a tap
so keep your silence
wearing your
filters and blinders
it does not change
my depth
nor beauty
my fullness
nor ability
I am still
enriched and essential
I still am… 

everything 
of love

awaits…

you take me there
wherever there is
this drugery flees
for a heartbeat or two
I promise you
it’s s not boredom 
that tugs my hair
just the breath of you
or a million more 
changing me 
a drop of you 
turns into a hundred thousand
flooding my sex
this pattern cut
you so easily alter
either perfect
construction in one word
or seams ripped in silence
perhaps that song
you write
the one you hold
in you throat
awaits breathlessly 
eager to brush
against my skin