A.D. Winans

For Sheila
by A.D. Winans

The truth is the
ache of these lips
For passion filled night
Truffles and Champagne
You riding my every thought
My tongue disappearing
Into the void of your womanhood
Tastes sweeter than
Cassablanca wine
These hungry lips sneaking
Down to chocolate delights
Seeking wet dew
Hungry tongue teasing
Pink velvet devouring
You.

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For Dino
by A.D. Winans

The Beach is Dead
The blood thin red
Dino the bartender lives
In a graveyard
chief undertaker
Dispensing pain
Like low grade cocaine

There was a time when
I might have invited him outside
Only the tough guy image
Long ago died

The beach is dead
The poets have left
Dino the bartender
Walks with spade and shovel
Having found his niche in life

The beach is dead
The ghosts cry in despair.
Mad cowboys rope my visions
Hog tie my poems.

The curse of Kerouac serenades
The demons of sleep
The beach is dead.

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