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.
breathe a slow steady sleek
vision suggests wherever might touch
the eyes might be a primary vehicle.
Sleep with me is the gaze
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
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.
I can but I won’t
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,
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
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.
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
legs that would kill if given the chance …
‘hurt me please’
Yup, I’m a little tired of lust.
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
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,
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,
only the screaming rage of passion remains,
waiting, in silence tonight,
with soft gasp,
reliving what might be,
rest the exhaustion.