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What thaumaturge or shaman, Wove the spell that bound our souls? What ancient words were spoken, In some forgotten, secret, sacred place? For only magic of the oldest kind, Could traverse time and the Universe, Bringing our kindred spirits, so far apart, Cetainly together as if fated by the gods. I'll never understand the arcane rites, Or rituals of the past forgotten sorcerer, Who decreed that we should meet, And bond for all eternity as one. At night, I seek, unanswered, revelation In the features of the silver silent moon, Yet, the final truth for me remains... It doesn't really matter how or who. You are here, and that is all, The gods have given you to me and, I need to know, not in the least... What ancient words were spoken. • Donovan Baldwin

The evening breeze passes Over quivering leaf and bough, As the bow of violin or cello, Drawing forth for poets' ears, Tales and mysteries unsolved, Messages in ancient tongues, To be set down as if our own. • Donovan Baldwin

First touches and kisses, Almost like A breath of a breeze, A spring zephyr Setting her shimmering, Causing all of her To tremble as Their intensity Increases, As each new gust Find its way into Every hidden place, Her storm rising, Stirring and loosening, Fanning fires, Fueling flames, As she rises... Soars... Bursts... Into a blazing rainbow Of pleasure's flames, Over a private land defined, By her lover's arms. • Donovan Baldwin

such pleasant foreplay i tickle and you giggle trembling together • Donovan Baldwin

dew upon my tongue mixed with your sweetest honey flowing from your lips • Donovan Baldwin

Though eyes may be dim, And senses muted with age, I draw on memories and Experience, seeing, sensing You much more vividly Than as a younger man, Even to seeing past Your calm exterior, and into The seething, passionate beauty You think you hide so well. • Donovan Baldwin

She was a whore, and only a whore, Who didn't love me at all. But she treated me well and showed me the way, When manhood came to call. Others came later, with faces and names, Some forgotten, though enjoyed so much. Yet, she's on the list of the ones I recall, Her look, her taste, and her touch. I'm settled now, with my aches and pains, Though I've had days of sorrow and joy. But I remember the night in a hot border town, The last time I was a boy. • Donovan Baldwin

Mid swirling mystic mists of morning, In secret hours the living, And dead to the world, Never visit, Wanders a blinded poet with open heart, Seeking the source of sounds, Images and ideas most cryptic, Hoping to unravel love's skein, To follow its threads to his love. • Donovan Baldwin

Some will say she surrenders Her body there on twisted sheets, But I, soldier poet, say she gifts, Enrolls, enlists in common cause Adopting the naked uniform of love, Taking her position, performing rituals, Holy, consecrated by craving and time, In the sacred battle of honest, amorous lust, Voluntary member of an army of desire. • Donovan Baldwin

guided by her muse following delightful paths most delicious ways in her secret place with his touching poetry she seeks ecstasy revealed exposed she wishes words upon her skin written by his lips ----- the moonlight paints her silver nude in open robe proud before his eyes ----- when your fires erupt fan them into leaping flames one touch at a time ----- subtle fingers scribe poetry upon herself in a cursive way • Donovan Baldwin

Autumn clouds, clothes all undone, Barely painted by the sun. Trees don't wish to be outdone, Drop leaves, stand naked, Fall's begun. Mother Nature shows her all, Before the chill of winter's call. Shivering nude neath heatless rays, Until once more, spring's warming days. • Donovan Baldwin

What would I do without you? A sadness descends on me, Even at the thought of such. It took so long to find you, So many decades without you, And now, to be bereft? I would plod on as before, The difference that in this new life, I would know there once was Such a one as you. • Donovan Baldwin