If you might stand behind me,
a seer whom walks the path
to gather sage to please the wise.
The walls are lifted,
the passion exists,
if you might stand behind me,
there would be my reality.
Then might you know,
the love I feel
is in a constant fluid run
of energy, all drawn by
the beauty of you,
the beauty of her.
If you might stand behind me,
I would certainly turn myself
toward your elegance,
for I would stand before you.
When I close my eyes,
that simple grace,
in a moment,
when all of my desire,
the sweet nectar of passion,
soft, supple, sensual
a wanton blend of
yes, this is me,
and I am with you
captured in an eternal surreal memory.
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 …
If while listening to heartbeats,
I could recognize a pace,
a steady beat of love,
oh, to know the passion of time.
I would channel my desire,
to hold true that pattern of
every manner of a cooing dove,
give Grace to this my kind.
If wants more easily defined,
would we have an everlasting
key for that eternal bliss we see,
when falling further forward.
If when seeking sweet remedy,
could a person so tenderly,
allow only time to fade the sky,
the world upon might carry on.
If when she then glanced my way,
would it be that for every day,
might my love be her muse mystique,
carry on sensuality in magic’s way.
Oh forever have the challenges defend
the loss, the failure of this spoken way,
love is a fallen sea of treasure,
we might always seek a measure.
If for now I could see in her eyes,
might I then forever be so wise.
In a glance,
a smooth gentle curve,
winding around a world,
where my want might remain,
it is in this quiet
the shape of you,
with eyes enhanced,
suggesting I might take you,
suggesting please do take me,
in that moment
I am a wonder in fantasy,
only with a desire might I recall,
the contours of a settling valley,
a surreal stream,
the rising waters will then give me pause,
for it is here in the nature of love,
I do wish to watch springs flow,
the gasps of evening, a sensory paradise,
it is a caress of her sweet remedy,
my dreams become reality.
A soft … gift,
when I can feel her hand,
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,
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,
when I might feel your hand,
There can be this vacant silence,
I have felt it
so often, struggled to accept, to understand,
and yet every moment it envelops my world,
becomes a torment,
the wheels of my mind roll on,
she continues her mystique, and yet, I am here alone,
wanting to blame someone else besides myself,
so I withdraw, become quiet, probably obstinate,
as the sadness rolls in to my being,
and the skies are blue, and the sunlight easily lost in shade,
while my eyes do continue the search.
is all I receive in kind,
suddenly my purpose does change,
to such a marvelous degree,
that when it appears my desire to be,
begins its own personal travel,
the fire lit,
the vacancy gone,
surely filled with the grace of her goodness.
She wants to call it intrigue,
and I want to label it elegance,
society would suggest refined wonder,
and I would call it beauty,
her world would suggest status quo,
and I would argue beyond wonder,
so delightful, simply sensual,
an essence of certain sweet embodiment,
that in a word,
sends me to that settling place,
where nothing can ever possibly matter,
beyond her word,
Oh I do on occasion confuse,
the true meaning of love,
it is when in an intellectual storm,
I sometimes forget,
or perhaps I choose,
while deep inside my mind,
I know the answer manifests itself as a want.
I want to seduce her,
I want to have her gasp at my touch,
I want to teach her how to let go and journey beyond
I want her to love me,
in the same manner I wish to always love her.
Then later, after the travel, the explosive gathering of storm,
when feeling the shelter of her center,
the beauty is grace in the arms of her sweet passion,
when I do recall the words,
I know she might wonder about
Is it a ploy, or a necessary piece of the whole,
where does elegance come into play,
when the ultimate goal is to bring distinct pleasure
into her life,
into her being,
into the reason she might wish to breathe, to feel, to respond.
When do the words seem enough.