I’m living in an ancient castle in Austria for now. It’s a community of free-thinking, free-loving, sovereign citizens that opened their huge castle doors to 200 hippies seeking refuge from a rainbow gathering that got disbanded. I’m falling madly in love with each moment. Each moment, a masterpiece. These tiny paintings desperately attempt to hold a morsel of the wonder.

creamy gray darkness
hands in my hair
lice scare

whiskers drawn on cheeks
teeth drawn to fingers
sweet sting

faerie locks
grandfather clocks
hippies in a schloss

wet kisses on a couch
acoustic castle walls
a treat for silent listeners

glittering spit wads
dangling from my tongue
find home in your throat

courtesans do strange things
behind curtains of hair
secret is our identity

60 bruised bananas baking in a cake
kitchen smelling sweet
successful midnight dumpster mission

asses pressed hip to hip to wooden benches
a halo of happy round a 500 year old table
red cheeks aglowing

peach flames in a fireplace
jazz flute and acoustic bass
shadows across a pretty face

white tent in a wet wood
hiding an infinite world
where love dances madly

pulses too fast
moments too rich
for tiny painting writing

tangled lounging cuties
fire-warmed pillows
begging for poetry to be written about them

poetry stuttered obediently
between gapped front teeth
real british accents are underrated

pitch black upset stomach
chili garlic midnight rice
a sleepy companion to hold my hand

woken up being petted
a schloss infested with cuddlebugs
fed banana by hand

an organ moaning brightly through walls
sunlight dusts wood floors
castles are only haunted in the night

pits of flying saucer-shaped peaches
pits of mud deep enough to drown
pits of sweat wreaking of long nights
when the sun refused to go down

warmth so thick you can caress it
glistening between foreheads pressed
warmth burping from a hot chapati oven
“what are the secrets you don’t want to confess?”

“read me all your poems”
“more” she pleaded in between
his epilogues are all apologies
oh the loveliness he cannot see

a lady crushed his mandalin
now it cries tears of glue
while he recounts tales of squats
and polyamorous girls he once knew