I would like to be a writer. I began this site with amorous intentions, and over the course of time, I hope to have evolved as a male in an ever changing society that is today, recognizing the true beauty and elegance of woman. I am also into writing poetry. Come along for the ride.

Erotic

Hers is a Mystique


When quiet gasp,

sensation,

hers is a soft response,

a mellow journey

of lips and tongue,

exchanges of passionate release,

one touch,

another is a sensual

response,

fingertips align with purpose,

quiet trace,

a forever blend of tease

inside a deeply designed

maze of passion’s own survival.

Oh to know the path to center,

when alone imagination,

is left beyond the moment,

once in sweet play,

the reach,

the desire,

the lessons in intimacy.


Imagine Quiet Resistance


The way I live my world,

wondering, imagining,

a curious emotion,

a satisfying memory,

to fill the space of reality.

 

In the space of an hour,

I can be next to her,

holding close her passion,

breathing in sweet delight,

hers is a romantic flair.

 

Tonight, is a fantasy,

I will walk through hours,

when together our lives,

become one in passion,

sensing the love that is real.

 

 

When I close my eyes,

she will be supine,

a figure in twilight,

restful with hair splayed,

upon my settling gasps.

 

I remember the linens,

the outline of her beauty,

I could recall forever,

the simple beauty,

the lovely tears in my eyes.

 

For it was in that one time,

when together our lives,

we did walk throughout the night

inside the pleasure of our dreams,

to find oneness in soul.


Sensual Dream


When I close my eyes,

I feel

her,

that simple grace,

in a moment,

when all of my desire,

seems centered,

her,

the sweet nectar of passion,

soft, supple, sensual

a wanton blend of

yes, this is me,

and I am with you

now,

this moment,

captured in an eternal surreal memory.

To reach,

to find, explore,

in a caress, in a sweet travel,

while our horizon remains the same,

inside our own quiet remedy,

is a journey,

only responsive to each other.

 

Show me please …

your eyes.

 


Touching Me


A soft … gift,

when I can feel her hand,

touch me,

a need,

a certain delight inside me,

perhaps a release, yet, more,

a natural telling,

a desire to know to understand,

to feel this passion,

a journey we have together,

a reach,

is all inside the sweet review of her grasp.

We did arrive

with a kiss, one that let’s me close my eyes,

and yet I leave them open,

so I might see, experience, fall in love,

with your mystery, your walk, the sweet essence,

of her desire being drawn toward me,

her touch,

when I might feel your hand,

touch me.


Only Erotic


When I do touch her,

there is this immediate

sensory need to know pleasure,

not my own,

hers, the sense of where I might be,

will soon discover a gasp,

a garment with my teeth,

a gently bite of her shoulder,

swept away to a naked caress,

and my tongue and lips explore

her every being,

and yet, we are just beginning,

I move with hands on shoulders,

her open neck waiting,

enough to know when touch,

her head flails,

wanting my every motion to capture,

the essence of her woman.

 

… and then I will let my hands cup

the simple nature of her being,

lips finding, fingertips tracing,

tongue a twirl,

now it is her gasps will let my hands

fall to discover a center,

that part of her beauty I imagine,

only when apart how much I would carefully,

with precision,

find her,

move her,

taste her excitement.

 

For it is then we know there is integrity,

in the nature of woman, in woman,

in her wanting to feel,

wanting to reveal that which will

allow me to reach inside her whole.


When A Younger Man


When a younger man,

I had these notions about love,

seemed to me,

the word could manifest itself,

in a red bikini laying next to me on a beach near a man-made lake.

 

At fourteen, I could see her nipples through the sheer fabric,

the lower garment-like a drape,

covering some aspect of woman

I would later only cherish as my spiritual mecca.

But I’ll never forget her breasts in red velvet,

at least that was my impression,

at fourteen,

a hot summer day,

my erection buried in the sand.

 

See the reality is I was afraid to look,

and yet she was delighted to feel so beautiful,

to know eyes would glance,

and all I wanted to do was

just tell her,

just find the right words to suggest how wonderful

she made me feel,

buried in the sand in a safe sort of adolescent scream.

 

When I was a younger man,

I began to love woman,

not women, but the essence of her being,

and I would imagine the travels,

my lips, my fingertips,

my journey to bring only pleasure to her eyes,

at fourteen,

with my head buried in the sand.


Certain Beauty in Repose


Might words draw an artwork around her beauty,

She beget that fair that will cause eye sudden stir.

A man’s glance to ask for sunlight in a stream

Would accentuate sensuality ease frivolity.

Oh then we do wonder what words exist in her,

When in watch, she will heads turn it seem.

A walk would give light to her every step

As perhaps imagine linens do tease inside

A world of private affair, only meant for one.

In that integrity of Grace, we might worship

A sinewy storm of her surreal glance aside

A measured smile, a breeze in privacy undone.

We would that opportunity survey elegance

With eye alive, I do delight we share a glance.