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. My words and notions will I hope respond in poetic verse of many genre and style. Come along and please share your ideas and insights. Thank you for your visit.

Sensuality

If When We Cry


It’s only when we know

no other place felt well to go

we watched an evening snow.


While You Were Sleeping


I took pause,

leaned into your figure,

wrapped my fingers around loose strands of your hair,

let them fall on my chest,

your legs intertwined with my own,

covered in a single sheet,

white,

draping our lives,

I took my hand and felt for the small of your back,

just above your buttocks,

I ran my fingertip up your spine,

until finding a place to lay my palm,

pressing my hand gently, and then with both hands

I now spread my fingertips,

so I could envelop your shoulders,

soft, naked, resting flesh,

safe in my hands,

I watched you,

sleep in peace,

I took pause.

 

I return here often

when I cannot have you

laying next to me,

only a memory,

the sweet breath of your gasp,

the easy rolling melody of your settling

into my own world,

it was you and me,

it was you,

and this was a me,

I had not known existed anymore,

yet now,

while I watched your body move in the linen,

when my fingertips aroused your recall,

it was there I knew,

this was a certain elegance,

that we had known,

we knew,

we found,

we began and we did rest,

and I would pause,

while a tear

would suddenly appear in the corner of my eye,

I was awake

to watch your beauty

your sleep,

a peace …

 

I could touch,

you.


This Posture


Like yesterday, perhaps in the moment,

a gasp

to the naked eye,

such is beauty,

inherent in the persona

of a lover in her privacy.

 

Only quiet reminders

might recall,

such is the treasure will

a woman

behold upon a man,

sweet delight is mystique.

 

If forever could suggest,

a posture,

a pose,

a need to expression,

then while the world evolves,

would my heart be held in hers.

 

We will remember the moment

sweet demeanor is passionate notice.


Love’s Visit


 

For a time, a reflective state of mind,

was my only hope,

a refreshing recall,

always with smile, a certain

sweet celebration could overcome

my any situation

if in that moment she

did return to mind.

 

Oh to know the many moons,

the calming sunsets,

red sky alerts to help me know,

this day was in our catalogue,

we recorded everything,

so many years ago.

Now today, in my search,

the constant would carry

my life through several cycles,

the ongoing experience, the mastery of

the human condition.

Oh, such a boring reality I might often espouse.

 

Then there beyond knowledge, fantasy, speculation,

her persona did arrive,

step into my world and dance,

I thought to myself,

as she moved through the room,

causing everyone to stand still,

the energy was simply thrilling,

without any need to wonder why.

 

Skip directly to the hello,

for all of you know

well,

I did swoon her elegance.

 

The eyes, the careful smile, sweet wonder

did return and my world

seemed to embrace a new chapter.

 

Now while around me everyone plans,

the tasks are many,

the fortunes always a fantasy,

for my day,

for my years, for the very nature of why,

I do stand here,

in quiet repose,

I will tell you this time,

of course,

I do love,

and I always have

felt this emotion, this quiet fantasy,

I do wish

upon Love’s visit.

 

August 20th, 2015

(8/20/2017)

 


The Little Things


When our lives settle difficult,

we wonder what will be our next

manner of speaking,

how to convey a need for love.

 

When our passions so unbridled,

cause our eyes, our hands, our bodies,

to want to interweave, and grace

each other’s fire with further desire,

 

it is in the little things she does,

when her fingertips touch my own,

and sweep the skin to help me feel

her love is an everlasting reminder.

 

When in the moment, our moment,

she does let my hands fill themselves

with her hair, so she feels my touch

upon her neck to allow her eyes to live.

 

When in the day, we do spend hours

in simple tones, conscious of each other,

in a need to display love in a quiet,

in a quiet, in a quiet manner of touch.


In What He Imagine Love


When in a rainfall, we wait to watch the droplets hang,

a lush forest, where a glistening fire of Her magic,

awaits our eyes, doesn’t beg, just does remain,

… and we continue to move about our day this way.

 

It would seem there might be a need to recognize,

She is a gift to be cherished in her every wise

manner of Grace in lighting up our lives,

to know certainty is the absolute of her mystique.

 

When love might be recalled, described, wondered,

there is this natural sense to look to the forest,

whereby the answers will always await the traveler,

the one who ceases step to pause, whisper the magic.

 

Deep inside the wood, glance into the depths, the sound

a Throstel make would carry a man’s heart further beyond

the tangible nature of life’s preoccupation only to wish

upon her soul, she is a seer, sweet mystical aura, is Love.


These Are The Nights


When in a moment,

your eyes suddenly cross my mind,

from there, I am inside you, wishful,

imaginative moments of delicious desire,

in these moments,

I am wanting to feel the cling of fabric,

suits a sweet nipple,

left to believe my tongue, a biting tease,

would wet that fabric, while your gasps,

sent my fantasy further,

hands have found me, so needy, wanting,

wishful eyes would widen

when knowing you might be getting just turned on

enough

to know I am here

doing what you cause me to want

when surreal is the caress

of my visual

memory …

feed me please!