In the quiet, a sexy shade of sensuality,
I would move to feel, to grace your skin,
gather near to offer me your beauty,
a gasp, a smile, eyes that yearn,
it is this memory, when with you I yearn.
I remember the slow rhythm of finding lips,
our nuzzle, slow and deliberate, knowing
we can be here forever before we even begin.
While time a continuum outside our private world,
we will create a delicious passion together.
Do you know how often I revisit the secrecy,
the lust, the rhythmic reach to find your eyes,
to know the casting shadows tell the tale,
a writhing, your center, an open journey
whereby all sound will fall within now dreams.
Oh to now hold the moment when an utterance,
means come along with me, my pleasure is yours.
It’s when I realize,
there is a sunlight outside,
streaming in my windows,
engages me, lights up the room,
yet, in that moment alone,
becomes a quiet reminder;
I muse sensory sensuality,
the intensity of …
It is when suddenly the air feels right,
a moment seems that clarity
we wonder how we got to this place
how it is that another occasion
seems so distant, far away, remote
yet so delicious in its spontaneity.
It is real
when I imagine you in every aspect
that surprise of immediacy in
It is remarkable the tale of the human condition,
when agenda tossed away and simple harmony
begins the newer travel of today’s irony.
it is real.
she is, he is, we cannot deny beyond the model pose
the delightful nuance of humanity
taking chance, a liberty with knowing
our ‘me’ drawn need to recognize who we are today
beyond yesterday’s anxiety
gives allowance to beauty.
That elegance, it is
Watching a fresh snow, I’m reminded,
a crisp winter night, we laughed
gathered sweet, warm swaths of snow,
tossed blindly our lives we didn’t know.
What recalls a youthful delight
can shadow forever another light
upon dreams we created, notions lost,
while we experience the coming frost.
I’m noting lives gather to celebrate
a memory over a hot cup, I relate
family gatherings, like piano keys,
trying to tap into the winter’s freeze.
I wonder sometimes if you might remember
when laughter pulled us through December,
when then next day’s anxiety tossed aside
a celebratory love to suddenly take slide.
Life covers a soul with a peace, not a shallow
victory when we remember what may follow.
Our beauty can recall a moment when a song
might validate, may suggest it is here we belong.
‘Snow falling gradual’, a line I might steal to suggest
this moment invites spiritual reckoning our guest
‘Snow falling gradual’ -borrowed from James Joyce’s The Dead
I’ll imagine every damp crease in your eyes,
I’ll wait for you to let me nearby
a visual is beauty while in a silent cry
we might always need to believe the why
I’ll play with the scent of slender arms
when while we kiss, a silent alarm
explodes in my brain arousal is warm
touch me please where there is no harm.
I’ll swoon to know your grace in elegance
we might soon together have our dance
I wanted you to love me with a simple glance
your lonely tease would give me a chance
I’ll wait until the moment we create our foray
such storms of harmony take our breath away
When while the world rounded slow,
I remember the speed of knowledge,
that piece of our rude lives,
learns with regrets, desires with need,
I stood at your door and witnessed beauty
without acknowledging soul.
I gathered my eyes upon your every
crevice, curve, delight toward center,
your eyes, with dark seas of passion,
waiting to be heard, asking for a moment,
yet my haste proved far too slight,
to imagine such elegance in my world.
I stood at your door, and barked my pleas
like the stolid source of imaginary passion.
While the world would turn slow,
I did once have opportunity to love,
though I choose to need rather than
while your offering of sweet passion
the sensual nature of response await.
When I’m alone,
I imagine her,
basking in a quiet afternoon light,
yet there is a lovely nuance in how
imaginative she might be.
Without me, or him, or she, or anyone else
that might design their own authenticity,
she is only her favorite touch,
her quiet remedy,
an aromatic, delicious, eyes closed,
a tap, a sweet response,
her gasp envelop the streaming sunlight,
with contact upon naked skin,
allows that heat to resonate beyond
She is beauty and grace,
the natural lines of serenity,
with pause for a dynamic focus,
she smiles there,
moves on to her next surprise.
She may imagine,
flowers in a meadow in spring,
perhaps, a morning, when lingerie,
caressed her state of mind –
in every drop of innocence she writhes.
To touch woman in her beauty,
is to grace the skyward valley of love,
to know truth in why man might exist,
to gather in the radiance, her design,
that which drives the mind,
beyond the hope to the actual release,
that moment, that explosive, unbridled
need to go further, go beyond, pressing need
will draw her bath as we float through life together.
There is real beauty in painted portraits in motion,
yet elegance exists while in quiet repose … her eyes.