A mantra with meaning,
a saying to suggest,
quiet in its discretion, its wishful
Oh, to have the time to say the words,
to know the reaction, to see the eyes,
to feel the lips, to taste the passion,
to understand the mystique
is drawn inside our own set of fashion,
our world together,
it is in that quiet alley way,
where romance did lean against stucco walls,
inside a broken world,
where healing hands and gasps and fires
did maintain some semblance of peace
internalized by the conflict of our realities.
Oh to know the sweet spirit of love
in all its natural abandon
preserved by the symbolic nature
of heart and soul.
Oh to taste the fire of dewy eyes in winter’s landscape.
Borne of need,
sheltered by reasoning,
though constraints do speak
when given audience,
it is clear we must move forward,
lest not forget,
there is beauty in memory,
the such that in a quiet reflection
forever be a lovely reminder,
there is beauty,
and she did show me the way.
One might wonder
to know the
to want the motion,
to make love.
One might imagine,
when in the moment,
the sort allows our bodies
to land upon, inside, beyond,
to feel this surreal nature
of sensuality drawn upon
years inside a quiet energy,
finding that reach,
sweet serenity is a cliche
that might not ever describe
the truly incomprehensible
knowing the moment.
One might always
asking the reveal,
swift is the response
to finding her mystique
knowing, believing, wishing
such aspect of truth
when lost in the throes
of wishing only peace
to be the
center of woman.
There was a shelter nearby,
we sought it with smiles,
a little piece of hidden world,
we made it our own,
I leaned against an aging picket board fence,
still sturdy and willing,
the stucco exterior of the vacant home nearby,
we would later laugh and say to each other,
if only we might live
I kissed her in the sweet moonlight of a winter breeze,
hidden in our makeshift reality,
we held each close,
the intensity of our passion so longed for,
so forgotten by no one beyond ourselves.
There was laughter in our eyes that night,
sweet magic to taste the bloom of wanton lips,
we wanted, indeed,
we wished for more yet recognized
the night sky held other’s eyes,
those would be our albatross,
a sweet touch of skin upon each desire,
and a good-bye,
the one we had never quite imagined,
in our own independent way.
sweet nigh …
The barista looks upon his expression, the customer,
hasn’t any idea what might settle in mind,
yet there is of course always a wonder,
she, he, they, the people everywhere around,
haven’t a clue the loss of memory
occurs when love unrequited may no longer
hold a place in this our sweet dear fantasy.
An internal methodology exists when fighting
the pangs of a helpless love no longer asunder,
and instead far, very far away now,
to that greater distance where one two loves
might touch in a quiet night sky,
this evening the clouds have arrived,
there is a certain mingling beyond the mind,
will forecast only a denial of open sky this nigh.
I do love to know that our love is true, I always will,
I forever remind my quiet mind the patterned reality
that did our lives cross paths for reasons beyond our
own societal terms – there it is, there, we did … love.
I settled inside a fantasy,
for many years,
I would know strictly beauty
in all of her capacities,
only because she would
let me in.
She let me in,
and I accepted,
though it was me that wanted
to be inside her world,
know then the surreal,
the soul, such passion,
as my life had never known.
We walked together,
trails of discovery,
every glance, we stepped seemed to merit another,
we’d laugh and we would realize,
might we do this forever,
to know just sharing her energy
my only wish, my only need,
my only sense of being real in my world.
I wonder tonight,
I wonder if ever there might be
some challenge to know,
some break in the storm,
that might allow sweet remedy
to the pain I feel each nigh.
I wonder if she might ever know,
may ever give solace
to the beauty she may bring
to a man’s life.
I wander the streets in certain repose,
wanting only hers to have the peace
yet me, my selfish quandary,
has no value in an eternal memory.
I do know elegance, mystique, hers is a design,
a jewel, an unknown sojourn toward forever.
I haven’t the clue,
the wrap around my heart?
my day begins and does cease
before the break of dawn.
I don’t know how to start my day
if even to hear her say?
‘we are ok,’
is no longer a part …
beyond the early crisp horizon
of who we are,
might have been.
I don’t know how to stay.