I do love her
madly, blindly, with out expectation
she, unconditionally
splitting words as I run my fingers through her hair
it’s thick and her hips snug into mine like
We were made for each other
we were, foolishly
icebergs into boats that later are resurrected on their own will
pulling the mass into the harbor
saying, look, we have slain the beast
brought it to you good people so you can melt it down
drink the water of the ages
But, that is not us
we are at one, and unity is never divided into
puddles, maybe, but oceans in our eyes..
deuce coupe 
Michael Mahone has written for a long time, but, until recently, his work has only been showcased on seedy bar bathroom walls and in back alleys. After hitch hiking around North America, he now calls Vancouver home where he spends his days walking by water.
Michael’s works makes me proud that I am a very literate man. His works are like tonics that makes my mind opens slowly against the winds, that makes my soul slowly unfolds, that makes my desires slowly consumes the whole damn moment like a thief against the night….
And I am thankful for this. How thankful I am.