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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

How to post items in ArtsKeeper’s Forum: Click on “Create New Post” On the page that comes up, on the upper right-hand side, choose the Forum category, This post will go in Questions and Answers. Others may go into Reviews or Poetry. Whatever fits. In the appropriate box, enter the title. Write or copy your post where it says “Write your post here”. You can add photos, graphics, videos. When done, check what you have written. If you’re satisfied, click on publish.

Can you be a girl again, A happy child, In love with dandelions and butterflies, Dreaming of knights in armor, And iridescent dragons, Before the world turned gray, Forced you to become a woman, With dreams pushed down, Pleasure denied... Can you be a girl again? May I help? • Donovan Baldwin

Nothing is as sweet As the first time we meet And start that ancient ritual With that first kiss. In the dark or is it bright That first touching just feels right Eyes open, lips apart The loud beating of two hearts.

"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

Where leads this beckoning road, This silent, time-worn street? Does it lead to secret places, where Angels and demons meet? Or, does it fade with forward steps, And slowly cease to be? Perhaps it reaches unknown lands, Which I am doomed to never see. Yet I cannot long each road ignore, Nor allow my steps to turn, From each strange path to somewhere, And something I must learn. • Donovan Baldwin

If your heart could see beyond my words, If they were to mean more to you than Mere strokes and curves on paper, And, became strokes, and curves On your skin, would your heart Beat ever faster, your breast Rise and fall with hope and Desire, the need to once Be truly loved, be held By more than words, Within loving arms Of one who now Holds love's Pen? • Donovan Baldwin

You see what I see When I look At ordinary things, Try to see The beauty that exists In so many common things, For, as poet I look, And, seeing more Than what exists, Create poetry Of words and Memory Which You and I can see. • Donovan Baldwin

(this is about cars after seeing a young fox smashed into the road, it's severed tail blowing down the road) The babies, the children, the animals The plants and the trees All living things Blessed by the creator Destroyed by human beings The creator’s heart is full Of the souls nay sparks Of blessed creatures  Brought to harm Not killed for food But by cars Carnage and destruction Pollution and waste Noise and danger To all innocent beings Killing each one And us -- all together