One silent summer
was a passion,
the heat of a reach
finding each other
skin to skin,
mouths that would search
a journey of lips
traveling along her back,
sounds of gasps
so very real, so very welcome,
the hands would then reach
diving inside the center of her
hands would grip his own
asking for a similar abandon
summer winds into the autumn
of our lives,
still the kiss,
long and enduring
wanton and forever,
the eyes inside each other’s soul,
until the final vortex
the icy depths of winter
did now overwhelm
a lover’s choice,
that desire that want that exploration
suddenly mired by the conscience,
we would only recall,
the passionate summer
in a memory,
a haste, a chaste
too real to imagine nostalgic
Ever watch the moon cross the sleek sky
simple, remarkable, out of our control
spectacular, astounding when in its whole
a magic, a mystique, lets us question why.
Might a person ever recall time in pleasure
while asleep in life, a sudden stir of mind
did a lover once say let us always rewind,
going forward forgetting passion will reassure.
What feels right, might be her rite of passage
forging a path lets us all ignore our selves.
Press on the pretense was meant upon shelves;
a library, sullen literature, a romantic message
I took a walk this evening under the moonlight
imagining sensuality prolong sunrise … might
A piece of me
I did give her,
the part of my life
would be absent the rife
her heart swelled
my reaction well,
I was mystified by the surreal nature
of her beauty beyond elegance, simple
Curving back within myself I create again and again.
A collection of beautiful thoughts, pictures and information
A blog of my struggles with mental illness, social isolation and being transgender n a hostile world.
I read, I write, I sketch. For fun.
The true sign of intelligence is not knowledge but imagination- Albert Einstein
Poetry and words
A place where you can be human.
Poetry that purrs. It's reowr because the cat said so.
Sharing my little corner of the world
A Place to Enjoy the Beauty All Around us.
Every now and then my head is racing with thoughts so I put pen to paper
"She believed she could, so she did." 🌙
Fleeting Emotions, perpetual words.
The home of poetry