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 “mystique

This Posture


Like yesterday, perhaps in the moment,

a gasp

to the naked eye,

such is beauty,

inherent in the persona

of a lover in her privacy.

 

Only quiet reminders

might recall,

such is the treasure will

a woman

behold upon a man,

sweet delight is mystique.

 

If forever could suggest,

a posture,

a pose,

a need to expression,

then while the world evolves,

would my heart be held in hers.

 

We will remember the moment

sweet demeanor is passionate notice.


In What He Imagine Love


When in a rainfall, we wait to watch the droplets hang,

a lush forest, where a glistening fire of Her magic,

awaits our eyes, doesn’t beg, just does remain,

… and we continue to move about our day this way.

 

It would seem there might be a need to recognize,

She is a gift to be cherished in her every wise

manner of Grace in lighting up our lives,

to know certainty is the absolute of her mystique.

 

When love might be recalled, described, wondered,

there is this natural sense to look to the forest,

whereby the answers will always await the traveler,

the one who ceases step to pause, whisper the magic.

 

Deep inside the wood, glance into the depths, the sound

a Throstel make would carry a man’s heart further beyond

the tangible nature of life’s preoccupation only to wish

upon her soul, she is a seer, sweet mystical aura, is Love.


When A Younger Man


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,

at fourteen,

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,

at fourteen,

with my head buried in the sand.


In Love’s Sweet Silence


We do in bold form express our truth,

in eyes we search,

lips we touch with certain youth,

the nature of our time together is love.

 

It is in the moment we try to define,

well beyond the physical desires,

we know there is a certain muse

in our quiet interactions after words.

 

I speak to your elegance,

and might my eyes light up

to the expression of reassurance you provide,

when showering me with peace of mind.

 

I would for it is that desire to know,

a thousand sunrises,

the time it would take

to in such eternal light express my love.

 

Oh to have you by my side always,

the tear is in such reality of course

a beautiful reminder of a solemnity,

that truly your love lives in my soul.


In Knowing Why


A slow burn,

the gradual release

when the mind,

chooses to listen

rather then react to the news.

 

I know I love,

hearts strings touch reality

exist in my every breath,

each moment I glance,

the look is for her eyes.

 

Yes there is a certain peace

in knowing

when no longer the confusion

implies a fabrication,

or suggests impulsivity.

 

Today the warmth of truth,

skin against skin,

I do, did, will touch the world

when in my arms

she allows me to carry her heart.

 

My soul, your mystique,

my life, your love,

the beauty of passing time,

our energy real,

forever.

 

Sweet muse, sweet love,

in my soul I sing aloud,

I breathe freely,

my heart feels whole

knowing her.


Sweet Are The Days


life

A cold breeze outside, the last visible gasp

Of winter’s magic, the ability to sketch moods.

When nature is in blossom, unlocks each hasp

That holds beauty of life, against, distant woods.

 

We might feel the soft soil that moisture settles,

Our walk designed to leave imprints in the snow,

We imagine the heat of spring to tease our nettles,

A slow reality of how we love, eternal energy glow.

 

I do think of soft reminders, eyes, lips, a smile,

A memory brings her heart near my own, wanton

Desire is the passion of knowing she, this while,

in winter’s august, a summer breeze in mention.

 

Today, in sweet shelter of my own quiet resonance

Do imagine, she, elegance is a gift, is love’s chance.


Greeting My Muse


muse

My day begins,

eyes upon, sub-conscious recall,

the immediate wonder of rains,

a sort of cascade in spectacular blues,

laying alone,

I do imagine pleasantries that begin,

let me waltz inside my own fantasy of her.

Silent smile,

the imagery gradually clear,

the beauty she brings to this privacy.

Ah, the fire is still burning,

I realize in a glance across the room,

I could use that as inspiration,

she is the constant of a passionate embrace,

when suddenly I hear a sound,

unfamiliar to my visual travel,

a reminder,

I am here again,

in a passive state of want,

sometime confused with the actual need

to understand,

to appreciate the simple mystique,

she is,

my magnificent muse.

* photo on pinterest