My goal with this page constantly evolves – there was a time when all I wanted was to pique a woman's interest in the hope we connect through writing, dialogue … today, with all of the wonderful inspiration I've received, my need is to further my respect and intrigue in the sensual nature of 'woman' in all of her grace and elegance. I do hope you might enjoy!

Posts tagged “fear

If She Might Listen

If only,

in that moment,

when I might know,

advances were of an innocent nature,

she cried inside,

not letting me ever see her pain,

yet I was the bewildered one,

now with a stain,

a lasting impression,

I would carry with me forever.


I suppose it is that patriarchal significance,

always knowing,

self-assured and callous,

anticipating the world to be our measure

of decency,

yet in that quiet memory,

I do recall her laughter,

it did,

bring us to the top of the mountain,

just the ledge,

the ledge that kept testing balance,

would never have held us both.


In lasting memory,

I always do replay the moments,

when somehow,

I hesitated,

and she would later,

have a confusion,

I can only hope would someday

turn a smile.

Deceptive Isolation

Have you ever really looked,

studied expression beyond a comment,

the quiet afterward,

if you could be inside that bubble,

how soon would despondency return.


I’m asking a question,

I already know the answer,

because it always returns,

despite my effort to want to move forward,

it’s the questions, the unknown,

the desire to feel wanted,

and then everything goes to hell.


Have you ever wondered if a person’s frame of mind,

is solely built upon interaction,

what if you put them in the words,

with an assurance of human isolation,

how long would they last before they decided,

nature might be the best solution.


Next time you wonder,

take a moment,

realize your impact is far greater,

than you might quietly ever imagine,

in the space of your own reasoning.

Writing to Fill an Empty Heart

I struggle with words,

they seem to carry on a certain storyline,

one I can never really grasp,

until the print allows my eyes to remember,

the swimming in motion ends

when it becomes the right time to let go.


I’d like to find the imagery in pain,

is it the steel edge cutting into a red ribbon,

where eyes might watch the soul slip away

in steady stream

no more hesitation,

a quiet, soothing, not so eternal release.


A friend of mine once said to me,

it is true we live our lives a very short time,

so in that span of countless hours,

we might remember love,

for it is that spiritual energy allows our smile,

if only for a brief instant,

to give us hope, a meaning and reason to survive.


I know that sometimes words might convey meaning,

but if it isn’t felt then they do become

only a semantic journey filled with imagery and pause.

I Can’t Touch You, But I Love …

I struggle to know,

what is right from wrong,

when it is I know there is love,

there is a memory of need to share

what we both believe began our journey



I swell as easily into society’s trappings

as the next fallen victim,

that sir, a madam, that genuine spirit

once before,

knew the treasure of delight in passion.

Now today, a cloudy day becomes a regular

reality in that visual palette of survival.


I wonder why when I do reach,

the hands that create passion,

I hope might begin their return,

stay at bay,

wait again for some moment of indecision,

a perhaps metal wall

capable of no interference.


I remember when

eyes would speak a loud

until the words no longer need


only our writhing embrace

would carry out that lead,

while animals enhance sensuality



Present Self Loathing

I do lie next to you,

in spirit,

in physical form,

a reach

a cup – your breast,

a soft perhaps wakeful gasp,

buttocks seek, legs now would writhe,

begin our wound desire … a sigh

my hand stays near –

I wonder

just how to begin when confusion


while morning sunlight

could indicate the time is right.

If I Could Speak

I wonder what words would define

that fear in my eyes,

the look,

hesitant, evasive, questionable

all the diction in my mind


in a moment, a sensual


appears before a hungry glance


didn’t know you,

yet would see you with every fantasy in my mind.

Clothed or sweet musings of


would my world be a sudden


with a similar reaction

to a brace of arctic breeze,

the feel good kind.

I might rather languish in sweet pool

of beauty

when in a moment of freedom

you dance a dream

a passionate twirl of romantic nuance

breathe a slow gasp,

allow eyes to dive into seas spectacular

in passionate embrace.

I would speak of this,

of a certain desire,

inside a world sensuous,

a place where we all might find


to verse, to linger, to enhance


That I Survived

These words,

are only redesigned


meant to suggest

some sordid frame of mind.

What event,

outcome, opportunity

might create a sense of


from our reality of life.


When it happened,

I heard stories familiar

to others

that could never apply

to anyone marginal,

only an indication,

a confusion,

a wonderment of

our living soul.


Will we ever understand

a basis of approval,

the sort that prolongs

a life,

beyond visual cues,

an internal clock

boggles the mind,

when the standard suggests

time is relative.


Inside the moment


a mortal choice.