by Bertie Koller

work your whole life
for just one thing
make it a song for your heart to sing

you don’t need money
& you don’t need god
you only need love to fill your heart

we’re not here to do
what we want to do
no we’re here to do what we need to do

& for each soul
that’s a different chore
love is the key to every locked door

what leads one home
leads another to war
never lose sight of what you’re living for

follow your heart
as you would a road
your heart always knows which way to go

you will fall down
you will make mistakes
just try & give more than you take

blue skies will flood
with darkness & rain
but blue skies always come around again

so work your whole life
for just one thing
make it a song for your heart to sing

you don’t need money
& you don’t need god
you only need love to fill your heart

by Betta Rouse

and we undressed. I
was all over the man. He took to
my hips and legs, kissed my
toes, my legs, all the way
to my pussy, and on
over my belly. I wanted
his cock, and crawled over him,
mouthed him, rode him
into the dawn, and the next night
after a day of wines and paintings
left with him by train for Paris.
We did it all again, on folding seats,
right to the edge of the city.
I thought to keep him at my studio,
and we climbed to it, feeling of one another,
long kisses up against the walls,
all three flights of stairs,
but I couldn’t bear leave him there,
dragged him to the apartment,
where we ate supper with my husband.

by Betta Rouse

Everything was very wet.
The music might have been
a 1940’s sound track.
We might have been on the coast of Brittany.
The raindrops became a continuous flow,
poured from gutters onto wood,
splashed onto the wood.
The single candle, and its reflection
in the bureau mirror,
lit the whole room in that golden glow.
We had had drinks and dinner,
cherry pie and coffee.
I wanted you to look like I felt —
in my swimsuit,
a halter and high–waisted 40’s shorts.
I dragged you out into the rain
until we were both quite wet.
I took your head in my hands,
took your body to mine
as we kissed and kissed.
Afterwards I craved
the taste a good Italian
meal
leaves in your mouth.

by Betta Rouse

your pleasure, wanted
you for myself, wanted
your breasts, in my hands, in my face.
wanted to mouth your nipples, wanted
to hold your thighs, wanted you
over me, riding me, wanted your
bones grinding mine.

Your muffled cries and gasps,
your moans, carried
your pleasures to me, and I imagined
you with me, played in time
to that music, endured as you
endured, until almost dawn, to come
with you.

I lay quiet, listening for some
further sound, as the birds began
their songs, but there was nothing more
of you, until the sun was well up
and you greeted me, in the kitchen,
rosy cheeks, gave me
that courteous hug
we girls so often
give one another.