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.

Posts tagged “elegant

Sunlight Serenade

Those are the days,

afternoons, the twilight beckoning a red sky,

it is the morning after,

while the children play, the people in their privacy

imagine a softer tone, a melody, a crystal montage,

cascades the mind with brilliance, enticing energy.


Walked outside today in an array of surreal,

the heat a fire on my skin,

the people nearby with an extra step,

all gloominess aside,

there is a rendezvous with beauty,

awaiting anyone across any avenue.


I would stand the heat,

play with the magical sense of this mystique,

turns heads, allows fantasy, creates


I would stand upon the highest ridge,

to only proclaim the beauty of this


I would give her my heart, my soul

already being cradled inside the mystery of time.

Oh to know the response her sweet manner

will give the world around,

when in quiet repose,

she does dance elegant

letting the rays of heat’s sensuality

light her center on fire.



When I Speak of ‘Her’


I wish,

breathe a slow steady sleek

vision suggests wherever might touch

bring pleasure,

the eyes might be a primary vehicle.

Sleep with me is the gaze

I desire

seeing her as a journey tonight,

in the dreams I will create in my want of her.

Remove her clothes

she will in the quiet of a fantasy,

fingertips begin to circle a world beyond my


I would if might chance allow


sweet serenity to want a response,

to want a need to be replaced

with absolute arousal.

When I do imagine her

in the light of a romantic fire

would my mind think anything else

beyond a treasure,

well past assuming anything at all

yet only a constant reminder of beauty.

Beauty that is her,

flesh alive, in black and white my mind,

needs little color to know

the flush exterior holds a fire inside.

She is beauty


we must know that before we can ever

demand her freedom.

She is a gift, and I am pleasure,

the release of her own burdens

become my rite of passage.

For it is she I wish to love.


*photo found on Pinterest

Sweet Liberty

She would move in puzzles

the sort that might twist my mind,

sinewy legs, rambling arms,

her breasts alive in silks

meant only for my eyes

in a crowd of many,

yet my eyes would find hers,

search inside her world,

where her hips would move

my loins as the sweat would pour

our bodies in unison

moving on marble floors


we could do it right here,

if only for a society that

might allow sweet liberties,

the sort you write home about.


move with me please would

her shoulders plead my hands

her thigh inside my own legs

her hips gyrating to the blues.


I would watch her in a moonlit sky,

move through the breeze with a need

to only release a lovely energy

the sort that if offered may swoon.

we may dance inside each other’s

minds, passion filled, recreating

a seductive sojourn, her sensuality.


if only the dance floor became my reality.

Can Not Sleep

I can but I won’t

tonight again,

I will stare at a wall,

imagine a different time,

a place, a visual, a soft breeze,

that surreal magic moment,


an escape from my present

speak to me please about


your constant remind.

I do want to

please you again,

hold you,

while I kiss you,


I want to


you might understand how you feel

delight’s mystique when in my embrace,

a gasp, a telling pleasure,

breathes eternal in your eyes.


I want to feel you,

in a quiet weave,

a rise of oxygen,

allows my body to feel


naked skin stands together

heat, passion,

in a pace plays passive

until suddenly take flight,

senses wound around tongues.


Show me while I stand nearby,

how begins this journey to … sigh.

Bored With Lust

I have become bored with lust,

well, that reciprocity thing is the cause

I suppose it was a matter of time,

before one more eye roll

while another shift in posture,

indeed, I imagine it was that glare,

caused me to suggest perhaps

aspirations were beginning to

falter in an exceedingly

pretentious sea of sardonic sanity.


I won’t make light of losing desire,

of withering toward an aging leaf,

crestfallen and snapping as life steps

firmly upon the soil of reality.


I’m simply bored with wanting when we wander

through life with constant parameters

explained attitudes,

suggestive glances,

delicious lips,

elegant strides

curvaceous smiles,

legs that would kill if given the chance …

‘hurt me please’


Yup, I’m a little tired of lust.

Spiritual Solace


I would if I could, may kiss her cheek,

if when I did she might a smile speak.

If all my energy would be for her love

then would I be a spirit’s cooing dove.

When with her in arms, in sensual hold

this is then the mark of love I’m told.

For if her eyes were to be pools of glass

I then truly wish mine could waves amass

For when it is we’re lost in beauty’s sea

only such sensual skies may we then see.

I languish in the sauciness of erotic tones

only to enhance such chance sultry moans.

Delicious is the mind that follows their heart

when sexually we wish to then create art.

For after her cheek, alive, touch skin’s release

might I find solace in her, plays an elegant peace.


* photo found on pinterest

Surreal Night Eyes

Eyes across the room,

I am that mystique you center

your desires upon,

a focus, on a mantle,

some place where while busy

with desire, with passion,

that exploration only yours to reach,

that look, your eyes, are melting my mind,

such a crescendo of fury I could imagine as your


slow and purposeful and needy,

the sort of, damn fuck me, needy,

nothing dependent,

because the look,

that intensity while you ride your circled waves,

of feathered fingertips, that push, reach, to reach the moment,

might nearly knock the center of your focus off the mantle,

such would be your touch,

my cock slippery in your lips,

tongue at the base,

just a flit, playing out my motion inside you

wet fingertips, spread legs,

wild abandon,

only the screaming rage of passion remains,

waiting, in silence tonight,

with soft gasp,

reliving what might be,

rest the exhaustion.