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Why save foreplay, For just one special portion Of the dance? Why can't foreplay, Be the dance? Why does it have to end, Or always segue To something else. We both love it!!! Let's spend the night Together, In mutual foreplay, Until collapsing Into each other's arms, And heart. - Donovan Baldwin

First touch, Whenever, Wherever, It happens, My fingertips, Drifting, Oh, so gently, Along curve of cheek, Thrill of warm flesh touched, Real person, Touched... Not just with words, Chin cupped, Fingertip across your lips, Replaced as I, Kiss you, Lips meeting lips. First time. - Donovan Baldwin

It can be a lonely place This poet's mind, So full of beauty and gaiety, Yet, with only the door Held ajar with a few words, People passing by peek in, And only see stillness, A boring facade, Never imagining all That is passing by Behind those silent eyes. - Donovan Baldwin

Back story: In 1967, two army buddies and I went to Disneyland, in Anaheim, California. While walking past one of the buildings, I saw a girl, who smiled at me as I passed. I got a photo of that face. Looked at it from time to time over the years, and wondered who she was and whatever happened to her. This poem is that memory and the subsequent wondering. One Girl's Face Fifty years ago I passed, and, Tried to read in one girl's face, Two stories; hers and mine. Mine was fantasy with her as the heroine. Was I in hers? I doubt she ever saw me. I have no knowledge of her story, But, I could sense shadows of dreams Behind her eyes, which stared out Towards a place, where surely, Something wonderful was happening. Did she long to go there, In that fantastic world? Did someone ride to save her, From the boredom of daily drudgery? In her story, was her simple dress Transformed Into a gown most beautiful? Was her soft dark hair topped, With a bejeweled tiara? There are, as I was told, a million Faces I might see, and each a story, I will never be allowed to read. So, what I read in one girl's face, Was, and must remain a romantic mystery. Perhaps some day, that girl herself, Now as old as I, may tell in her own words, The story that her eyes beheld that day That only they could see, and she could read, The story told beyond, or perhaps behind, That one girl's face, fifty years ago. • Donovan Baldwin

You are not lost The shadow man Of glorious spirit Passion flowing Words like velvet Desires felt not on skin By heart beats Pounding inside Where nobody sees But you

whatcha doin' boss? you got food in here? that why you closed the door? not that i'm nosy, but, my nose led me here, and, i heard a wrapper, and, smelled somethin' why ya hidin' from me every time you eat? Huh? Donovan Baldwin

You, me, and the moon. Our ménage à trois will end Ecstatically. ----- As you cross the room, A swaying sensuous storm, You sweep me away. ----- Entwined, embracing, Torn by warring love and lust, Giving each fair share. ----- Close as we can be, As if sun or wind on skin, Let us touch with love. ----- Ignore the mirror, It sees you not as I do. My heart sees the truth. ----- Seated beauty waits, He treats her cavalierly, She deserves better. ----- One last nervous step, Close the night outside and turn, Running to my arms. ----- How daring are you? When the storm howls in the night, Will you seek my arms? ----- If you laugh today, See yourself as beautiful, I smile with true joy. ----- Woman of beauty, My eyes see you as you are, Weeping in their joy. ----- Beside the ocean, Lovers walking hand in hand, Sharing sun and sea. ----- Each night, I muse, Anxiously awaiting the arrival Of you, my beloved, Stepping from the dark Into my heart and arms. I feel the pressure The warmth, The encircling possession Of your loving arms, And, in reverie, I hold you to me Until sleep overtakes me, And spirits you away. ----- Dove outside my door, Coos to his mate as I do, Hoping you hear me. ----- Too old for loving? That would be too old for life. Loving you is life. ----- Donovan Baldwin

"Where have you buried the poet?" Asked the lady solemn and grave. "Madam, we're sad to tell you, There wasn't that much to save." "Where have you buried the poet, Where does his headstone stand?" "Madam, we're sorry to tell you, He's not buried in holy land" "Where have you buried the poet, Serene valley or pleasant hill?" "Madam, we don't remember him, Since his pen's been so cold and still." "Where have you buried the poet, His bones, where are they interred?" "Madam, all that remained was a box Of his papers with every word." "Where have you buried the poet? I've come far to honor his name." "Madam, we've all forgotten, And there's only ourselves to blame." • Donovan Baldwin • Painting: All Souls’ Day: Ferdinand Georg Waldmüller and Franz Skarbina

I have risen from Ashes of my defeat Time and time again, Defying the Fates, And all the evil gods Could muster Against me, For I am me, And I must strive, No matter if I should win or lose, I will rise from The ashes each time For that is MY battle, To rise... Again • Donovan Baldwin

In life are many walls, Hemming us in, containing, Restraining us, Keeping us captive. The worst walls are the ones By those who should be Helping us to find our wings. Next worse walls are those We build around ourselves. Maybe we should try Climbing over those walls. • Donovan Baldwin