When quiet gasp,
hers is a soft response,
a mellow journey
of lips and tongue,
exchanges of passionate release,
another is a sensual
fingertips align with purpose,
a forever blend of tease
inside a deeply designed
maze of passion’s own survival.
Oh to know the path to center,
when alone imagination,
is left beyond the moment,
once in sweet play,
the lessons in intimacy.
The way I live my world,
a curious emotion,
a satisfying memory,
to fill the space of reality.
In the space of an hour,
I can be next to her,
holding close her passion,
breathing in sweet delight,
hers is a romantic flair.
Tonight, is a fantasy,
I will walk through hours,
when together our lives,
become one in passion,
sensing the love that is real.
When I close my eyes,
she will be supine,
a figure in twilight,
restful with hair splayed,
upon my settling gasps.
I remember the linens,
the outline of her beauty,
I could recall forever,
the simple beauty,
the lovely tears in my eyes.
For it was in that one time,
when together our lives,
we did walk throughout the night
inside the pleasure of our dreams,
to find oneness in soul.
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 …
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.
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.
When I do touch her,
there is this immediate
sensory need to know pleasure,
not my own,
hers, the sense of where I might be,
will soon discover a gasp,
a garment with my teeth,
a gently bite of her shoulder,
swept away to a naked caress,
and my tongue and lips explore
her every being,
and yet, we are just beginning,
I move with hands on shoulders,
her open neck waiting,
enough to know when touch,
her head flails,
wanting my every motion to capture,
the essence of her woman.
… and then I will let my hands cup
the simple nature of her being,
lips finding, fingertips tracing,
tongue a twirl,
now it is her gasps will let my hands
fall to discover a center,
that part of her beauty I imagine,
only when apart how much I would carefully,
taste her excitement.
For it is then we know there is integrity,
in the nature of woman, in woman,
in her wanting to feel,
wanting to reveal that which will
allow me to reach inside her whole.
When a younger man,
I had these notions about love,
seemed to me,
the word could manifest itself,
in a red bikini laying next to me on a beach near a man-made lake.
At fourteen, I could see her nipples through the sheer fabric,
the lower garment-like a drape,
covering some aspect of woman
I would later only cherish as my spiritual mecca.
But I’ll never forget her breasts in red velvet,
at least that was my impression,
a hot summer day,
my erection buried in the sand.
See the reality is I was afraid to look,
and yet she was delighted to feel so beautiful,
to know eyes would glance,
and all I wanted to do was
just tell her,
just find the right words to suggest how wonderful
she made me feel,
buried in the sand in a safe sort of adolescent scream.
When I was a younger man,
I began to love woman,
not women, but the essence of her being,
and I would imagine the travels,
my lips, my fingertips,
my journey to bring only pleasure to her eyes,
with my head buried in the sand.