Your lissome regrets

Harbour no sails

As I groom you to know

I am not equal to your love

I sustain

You envelope

Me in your lusting

For More.

I wonder at my name

Prince William of Brit

For never shall I know

How you found me

Alone as a knave

Now my wish has been

Granted. I have found

A Tommy but you are

The swell I have been

Swimming for.

Lift me up so I surf

The Kalahari again

Resist not

Dear Kate

You are the timely

Saint of my

Longing. B


COPYRIGHT Bruce E Saunders 2020

There is no time like the present

No time to call me the better man

I love you all but still you sin

You smoke like Dirk but hold your fin

Like an animal

You do not win

In absence of glory you do not tell

The winner is evil the sky the begin

Of pleasure inperilled

The arc of bin laden

Does not finish here

But there where you win

The aimless start of war can be

The anywhere else for you do not begin

The end does start to make it sin

You do not know where I cannot simply

Open your eyes to the title track

Of the lp

I love to play

10 to 1

Is not the time

It opens doors

Where love begins

I di not know where you

Cannot sin

Begin the where

When no one sins

Where your difference on the brow

And hold your crooked man

On the sow

Soo-ee, soo-ee

I love you more

Than pigs do in your final hour

Do not know me when

You power

I know you not

And love you nire.

Pyre is work I do not pleasance

Take the bow

The corner presence

Is open now

I cannot hold

You again.


Copyright Bruce E Saunders 2020

I read a poem the other day

It made my heart sing-e it was so

Full of Unadulterated sexuality that I

Could not feel.

It felt so cool to be byool and not fool-ish about it

For some it was a read statement

But for me it was a desire that was a not

And a no to the thing called sex

Which I plead without knowing what it is

It has been so long I know I shall not do it again

I do not care and therefore I am excluded

But I care not for it is a not and not a no

I choose.

A knot for me is a speed to which I sail and I go too fast

For the imbecile inside me to stop for the ride.

To stop is to be a sign of tide turning

And I shall not turn from my progress

Across the sea for thee or anyone else asunder

That is the fact.  Bang!

You’re dead.


You’re dead too.

Ow! I scorn thee but the burn is fast betraying me to be

A fool for the love not of the time called life in-stance.

I come but I do not falter for thee, I fun thee from the throne of Hell.


Copyright B E Saunders 2016