What a dull title for a post, I know, and this post is going to be rather slow for those looking for pictures of hot sex (although how often do I post those kinds of pics anyway?) but I’m back in NYC for a few days - a quick trip that includes business meetings and time with friends and their new babies - and one of the things I try to do when I’m here presently, is clean out more of my past. While digging through my drawers at home I found a poem I transcribed when I was in high school. Something about it struck me then, and I wrote it in marker, black and rainbow color, on a piece of white 8 1/2 by 11 inch paper, taking a lot of time to make it look nice. While I had the author as anon, a google search brought up the name Veronica Shoffstall. I’m retyping it here, because I still find huge meaning in the words. It reminds me, as I’m on the brink of reconnecting with past loves, that no matter what ends, there’s always something ready to begin.

Here goes…

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