If

an expiration

date became quiet reason

would anyone know

Exhaustion

I don’t know when, but I do know there is peace in knowing mine will be over soon.

My Only Haiku

One time I was loved

I felt her in spring in arms

she soon found my eyes

When We Imagine Death

Oh we fantasize,

the quiet, the sleep, the no longer

active duty

of being on the same page

 

When we imagine,

we often paint a pretty picture

because in our mind

anything is better than this,

we have forgotten everything.

 

When we allow ourselves

to go into the murky waters of

self-destruction,

we purposely ignore

the beauty around us.

 

I wonder why it is

that when I would rather be

asleep,

i do forget the beautiful faces

surround me every day

 

I suppose it is because

they are beautiful aren’t they

and yet,

their soul, their heart,

that passionate embrace

 

That piece of their lives

is meant for someone else,

and mine,

my mystique my muse my lover

is beyond my reach

 

So then I believe

that is what it is

the final response

to knowing we cannot achieve

the peace we know,

 

So instead we imagine death,

for in its absolute,

we can now begin to relax

stop trying to reach …

If She Might Ever Know

It will be only she

my mystique

her muse

I listen to a soft cello

in sad tears in the background

they cry out her notes

of waning despair,

I wonder if she might ever  know

will only be her.

 

Oh I’m told I have a flirt

in my body,

there is a smile

a curvaceous sometime

appeal come playful

that is apparent

in the light of day,

in a quiet darkness,

yet there is no one

causes me such

passion to want to please

then her,

when near me

I might again find her eyes

under a blue moon,

and together we could play

with the music of our lives.

 

How is it possible

that in a world of similar

being, pattern, lifestyle

that a singular moment

would create

such a yearn

that would swallow any other

massive audience of similarity,

so that this one

audience

would be our own

soft and passionate, our quiet,

our silent,

heart and soul.

 

It is she whom I cry for, I muse,

I lose my direction apart her mystique.

There Is A Beautiful Moon Tonight

 

I’ve been looking all night,

the way the sky turns

a crystal clear arctic landscape,

a frozen anatomy of

our coldest time of year,

when one could walk naked into the element

and a soft smothering of hypothermia

might bring on a quiet

a slow departure falling into fantasy

the womb of mother nature

in safe and cradled arms

underneath the blue moon,

but time is of the essence

for the rage of night fall will bring upon us all

the wolf blood moon,

and that symbolic rage

would certain find our

lonely wander.

When I Opened My Twitter Feed Today

I found the usual – writings, commentaries, notions, desires, wants, reprimands, slams, wishes – every aspect of anything we might desire, hope for, imagine, fantasize. In recent weeks what speaks to me more is the beautiful sensuality of writers speaking from their hearts of loves, passions, needs, imagines.

I realized I want as much as everyone of the writers I follow, and then along with that I realized it is time for me to look at what is real in my own world. I love erotica, I love sensuality, I love the avenues this page and my twitter and other outlets have allowed me the avenue to speak to my own imagined desires. Yet there is something now in the reality of all of this fantasy.

It is difficult for me now to read of a beautiful person’s yearnings because I understand them, but not as much as I once did in the beauty of the moment, the reachable touch of desire inside the realm of drawing a visual of such intrigue. Today that sensuality is alone in my mind, the mystique of which, the yearning leaves me quiet.

I won’t post on Twitter for awhile, in fact, I probably won’t read that often because the majority of my follows are those beautiful artists of erotica and sensuality, and it just brings tears to my eyes because I cannot feel that and I need to not feel that. I have the sense of loss that I cannot fill and with every glance the reminder tells me that perhaps a sabbatical is a good idea.

I think soul-searching sucks sometimes. I understand its value. I realize the need. But in this writing today, it is obvious, I do not yet know where it is I am going. Taking smaller steps, shorter breaths, staying alive.

The Moon on this Night

Screams at me tonight

Can you want to please hear it

I am listening!

The Trivia of Suicidality

He looked her in the eye,

while she showered his ego,

his mind might wish to cry

he couldn’t reveal he might go.

 

Talk to me about life today,

how fortunate we are to live

how easy it is to simply step away

even just after looking so alive.

 

See that’s the beauty of conversation

knowing someone is listening,

the laughter, the genuine ideation

of this is our reality, keep it happening.

 

I drove home today imagining only

oncoming traffic coming my way,

I’m thankful I cannot get past the beauty

of letting each driver live lives without delay.

 

Imagine if one sudden move were to suggest

these really are the fears I cannot digest.

That Occasion

Stars align in a cosmic evolution

bullshit

all I want is a piece of pie,

not a dramatic determination

as much as I could prove myself worthy,

in the end

where it is I want to be,

I would still be lost in …

lost in that …

some transparent atmosphere

that ten minutes earlier

seemed so fulfilling

yet right now

further away from me than I might imagine

I’m really

rather adamant

with this need

a familiar place,

centered inside

the quiet relief

found only in sweet beauty

of such is the elegant grace of woman,

her,

this remarkable feeling

comes over me

tells me,

I’m not an idiot,

this is wonderful,

this now,

touch,

me.