It’s too cold to be at the pool and I am far beyond wet dreams or maybe it is simply the fact that no girl has ever found me sexually appealing; no reason to get wet. On The Sails of Love… maybe if things were different, to make love and to be loved.

Windows cracked, faces scorned, hearts so hollow, and hands so worn.

A poetic version of a man born without legs.

Two legs have men
but four legs animals.

Limerick.

By Bryan Wegman.

A funny little poem, about an everyday grooming habit.

I just want to get lost in your hair and pass through the forest.

The process of eating crab legs is more than a meal, it’s an experience.

MAN, SAND, MILK-MAN, POST BOX, GOD.