The show's not over
till the fat lady snores,
I should know,
I was there, 1973  
or 74 and Mahler
still playing
on her Hi-Fi,
the last movement
of the Ist symphony.


We liked that, made
love to it, wondering
what Gustav
would have made
of that, the fat dame
and me, empty
whiskey glasses
on the table, curtains
drawn against
the night sky and moon.


The first time
she snored,
her soft whiskey breath,
her globes caught
in moon's glow,
her closed eyes
like upturned shells.


Her Scottish tongue
soft but sharp, her
flab sufficient
to keep warm
if needed,
but it was along ago,
she's gone now,
so I heard, my fat
dame lover, my sex
making love bird.

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Milka touched
on the arm


her fingers
running down
to his hand


touched Milka
on her thigh


his fingers
running up
to her sex


their lips met
hot kisses
wet tonguing


both eyes closed
his fingers
making play


her fingers
his open palm


she thinking
dream like things
wedding bells


wedding rings
he thinking
fingers warm


opened her
like flower


in spring time
her beauty
undone him


sucked him dry
she asked him
her questions


like girls do
he answered
one word why?


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Vibrations on A Hardwood Floor

He told me his fingers could get trapped in my roots.
And he wasn’t speaking of my family tree.
I was his sugar rum cherry
 Syrupy treat
 And so bitter sweet.
He said I spoke in verse
and giggled in rhyme.
 He said I reminded him of a tune
Too elusive to recall.
 My body was inspiration
 that he could not transcribe.
 So he made it a point to
Commit me
in all my dimensions
to memory.
He became trapped in these roots.
Just as  I feared.
I was his a-
His a(hhh)
His af(firmation)
 His Afr(ica)
His afro
By Ayesha K. Faines copyright 2007




If I was your son, I be your seed,

The one who let me out to this world,

If I was a punch, I would choose the one,

You gave to my pregnant mother,

If I was the traumatise child,

I would be the one listening his mother screams,

If you were holding the metal belt,

I would be the kid with the scare,

If you was the one broking glass on the floor,

I was the one walking bare feet upon it,

If there was a closest,

I was the one hiding inside it,

If was an beaten puppy with metal bar,

I was the son force to watched it,

If I was the man who was pushing his wife by the window,

I was the small child, weeping for help,

If I was the man scalping your mother,

I was the one holding the knife,

If I was the son of the woman begging for help,

I was the one ready to push the blade inside you,

If I had follow your path,

I was the animal trap in your cage,

If your were my father,

I would have stop drinking myself to death,

If you were my blood and flesh,

I am glad you took your delirium six foot’s under,

If I had a choice,

I wish, we could had the chance to spoke once,

If I could turn the clock,

I would tell you, I had long forgave you,

If you can hear me from above,

I was simply telling you, I love you dad.


Author's Notes/Comments: 



Sophia was out of luck
if she thought Benedict
was going to fall for that
that mid morning fuck


and on
old Mr Atkinson's bed
(how he liked
his Wagner)


creeping up
on him like that
grabbing him
around the waist


and pushing him
to the bed
and saying
O come on


just a quickie for me
(Polish accent
not shown here)
no no


he said
not here and now
I’ve jobs to do
baths to attend to


old men
to get ready
and she lay over him
spread out on him


her bulging breasts
kind of pinning him down
but it is my birthday
she said


it is good to do
the unexpected
now and then
her breath smelt


of peppermint
her body
eased on him deeper
he kept his hands


away from her
at his sides
best he could
all temptations


held in check
you can do
what you like
she said


good then
let me go
and I’ll go run
some baths


he said
it's near morning
coffee break


I need my fill
of coffee
you could take me here
she said


from the front or rear
no no
he said
trying to get off


the bed
his hands attempting
to push her off
touching her body


soft and supple
her breast touched
what if I scream out


and say you tried
to have me?
she said
go ahead


he said
 they know me
they know
you're always after me


I’ll say you tried
to have me here
on Mr Atkinson's bed
they believe me


she said
I'm the female
go ahead then
scream off your head


he said
but she moved off of him
and arranged
her clothes tidily


pushed her hair
into shape
and said
I’ll have you next time


Benny boy
next time
we have it quick
and on some other bed


and he rearranged
his shirt and tie
and watched
as she walked off


down the passageway
her fine behind
giving it
that sexy sway.


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certified Love

every daythroughout 

I sleep in the bed I've made

my comforter is White

but my sheets are stained in Red

oh, I want your Love

that engulfs me

the smoke matches the rest of my White

melting out

into a sparkling red dress

connected to your Heart

verifying the day

we will meet

again- together

in the Garden

and We will know

the Red was justified

we were meant to Come together.

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Lara sat
beside him


in the old
city of


sipping wine


better than
that coffee


you're drinking
is that so


he replied
gazing at


her beauty
in morning's


bright sunlight
yes it's so


and what's more


I'm ok
he boasted


even though
you kept me


from my sleep
with demands


for more sex
she sipped wine


small finger
sticking out


kind of posh
can't keep up?


he liked her
long red hair


the dark eyes
the red lips


sipping wine
the milky


coloured tits
yes I can


he replied
but she knew


that he lied
she had to


drag him from
his slumbers


wake up his
slack member


ease it in
to harbour


like a wrecked
old schooner


how's your dreams?
about me?


he sipped slow
his coffee


maybe so
he replied


maybe not
but she knew


that they were
he called out


in his sleep
no more sex


Lara dear
as he lay


on his back
his eyes closed


his member
once more slack


he knew it
knew he had


dreamed of her
her parted


fleshy thighs
and the lips


of her fruit
wanting him


one more time
more coffee?


she asked him
to keep you


from slumber?
I'm ok


he replied
want more wine?


she sipped slow
finger raised


not just now
I am fine


but she lied
he knew it


another night
coming up


more wine drunk
more sex talk


more kisses
but his mind


and member
just ready


just waiting
for slumber.


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Miryam sits at the bar
sipping a Bacardi,
bumming a smoke
from a packet open
on the bar top.


Hear you went
to Fez today,
she says.


Yes, it was like
something out
of Bible times,
you say,
camels, donkeys,
people in head gear
and gowns and such.


I would have come,
she says,
but I was too
shagged out
after the night before.


You eye her,
the tight curly
red hair,
blue eyes,
red lips.


I made it ok,
you say.


Don't know how,
she says,
you left after I did.


And you didn't come in
the tent
for a goodnight
kiss or more,
she adds,
staring at you.


Thought moaning Minnie
would be back,
you say.


She didn't show
until hours after;
been having it off
with that ex-army guy
of yours.


So that’s where
he went,
you say,
taking a quick sip
of your wine.


I'd have stayed
if I'd known.


Miryam inhales deeply,
then exhales.

Where's Army boy now?
she asks.


No idea,
joined the navy
for all I care,
you say.


We could now
if you like,
she says.


You take in
her tight blouse,
tight skirt
with a slit
at the side,
showing thigh.


One of those
sand dunes,
they're deep enough
to hide us,
she says.


Why not?
What if someone
comes over
and sees us?
They see us.


Nothing new
in what we'll be doing.


She drains
her Bacardi,
puts the glass down
on the bar top.


the Moroccan sun? 
Either you do
or you don't,
she says,
getting off
the bar stool,
showing more thigh,
slim legs, sandals.


You drain your wine,
and follow her
from the bar
of the base camp,
and down
between the tents
and onto the beach
towards the sand dunes.


She has a fine sway
of hips, you note
as she walks in front.


The sun warms you,
sand beneath
your feet, some one
plays a flute
from across the way,
a voice sings.


She finds
a deep sand dune,
and you both
get down inside,
she kisses
straight away,
lips to lips stuff,
hands undoing,
and taking
stuff off,
her body drinking
in the sun.


You and the pecker,
ready to go,
and the guys
still singing
from the camp,
flute still playing,
and she smells
of sun oil
and Bacardi
and stale
but its all go
no time
for regrets.

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