When enough sound assaults you
this is when your peace is at hand.
Attacked by endless voices
and the murmur of 1000 conversations.
The bus drives by and the distant music
from bass driven cars thumps
in the background.
A plane flys overhead.
A siren from a large red engine
whirs by.
This is when peace is at hand.
In the turmoil your mind shuts out the rest.
You drift lost in your self.
Ignorant to all the sounds
and to the words directed at you.

You still shake hands
and smile.
Knowing that you do no know, what was said.

Red setting sun on the beach before night,

lost in your delights.  “The Florida sun can do that to you” is

what many people say.  Rhythmic lapping of the waves

as we hold hands gazing across the blood red Tampa Bay.

The waters reflection on our faces mimic the sunburn tourists get

when they forget to cover their skin in sunscreen. 

I speak of tourists as if we ourselves are not one in the same for this short time

that we hold hands.   I turn to you and your lips, ruby with a hint of rose.  Licked,

glistening, awaiting my touch. Your eyes sparkle with inner fire, glinting and hinting at

your desire.  A lean forward as I caress your warm skin and our lips touch in this

warm embrace.

From the distance a young man watches as the setting sun envelopes us in its heat, two

 burning shadows on the beach before night.

A mountain stream, bubbling waters flow
over rocks and branches
as the sun moves across the near field.  Its
light slowly like a wave reveals the grasses
and the morning dew
glistens back like stars.

On a rock set aside from the morning play
I watch.

At first scared of the coming wave of light,
its brightness conquering the dark
before dawn.
As the light reaches my stone it covers
me, warm and blanketing my skin.
Its light fills the stream
and small fish dart within its glory.

Set aside
I alone on a stone
beside a mountain stream in the morning sun.