Yellow reads the Kama Sutra

to write a new edition.

I admire her.

She admonishes me.

Lately I have rotted like wood,

muddled like a puddle.

Where is my orgasmic frenzy of doing

and being done?


The Yellow Sound

The Yellow Sound


She is Juning at a pale farmhouse table,

a gingham table cloth singing to the rhythm of the breeze.

Sunlight sinks sonorous into her dark,

scintillating hair.

Her breath,

her summer rainbow of colors,

her cornucopia of warm feelings –

joy, ecstasy, bliss,

and their pastel coated cousin contentment,

blend in a sweet yellow hum

hovering around her.

He looks at her.

this woman of glow and pure yellow sound

and he wonders how one can contain