I wonder the fragrance of her hair,
when nestled in her shoulder, lips touch skin,
Let me breathe in your sense
before you leave me forever.
For it is that permanence
occurs every time I say good bye
Today I have been watching time
wishing only some sign,
an indication that tells me I am not crazy,
that this is real,
the ache I feel is the response to losing her.
I wanted summer to be alive with love,
a shower of affection like a late summer rain,
the two of us, soaked linens, laughing,
kissing each other in the constance
of a watery memory,
the times we would together,
flatter each other
with a certain elusive desire.
Yet it is today I stand
I wonder how much longer she can
let my need to share sensual dreams
her being by my side,
the scent of her,
stays in my mind,
We design a fantasy,
the essence of care, desire, a want,
the imagination can begin,
a simple notion of touch,
and my own body does respond, my hands reach,
I wish for yours in the moment,
only option I have is to hope yours might be the same,
I know where my touch would be,
every inch, every aspect of a gasp
your utterance directs my need,
it is my own, only in tandem with satisfying
We didn’t plan this,
words familiar to the ideal,
two lives in separate worlds,
a correspondence, a fire,
a reasonable time to remember,
is all we suddenly recall,
when tonight, we wander,
separate minds in a similar spell.
Fantasy alone brings wild results,
a yearn for reality
make allowance for time,
a touch, a soft gentle caress,
a swift imagination would become,
that certain urgency to know,
to feel eyes upon eyes,
lips to taste the nectar
a careful abandon,
When last I held you close,
we did a passionate dance,
your breath heavy, gasps apparent,
did we play the night for the longer minutes,
when both our bodies felt the need,
to find more time.
We would with just a trace,
skin alive in a sudden fury,
could we travel the miles
in caution a moan, might my desire
ever seek taste in the serene atmosphere,
of only your sweet sensuality.
We can each time reinvent
in the privacy of our trepidation,
open doors to wander,
inside the lives
where in a delicious motion,
our bodies, our needs, do meet,
do reach levels.
I wanted to write about love tonight,
I still do, I’m struggling,
and I wonder sometimes along this journey,
if that is the process,
the goal, the outcome, the essential truth,
See tonight, I told someone my heart is in their hands,
I felt like we both knew,
we responded alike,
cried, sighed, tried laughter, it worked,
it always has,
positive energy –
yet, tonight, I’m sad, my tears are dry,
I don’t understand,
how love can suddenly become
Oh, trust me, I’m a romantic fool,
I get loss, and the rabbit hole,
I just didn’t anticipate hanging this far off the edge.
If while imagine,
soft shoulders respond to quiet gasp,
a knowing taste might begin,
each tease, an utterance, each desire,
I will myself to want to wine and dine …
the passion of her being.
I do lie next to you,
in physical form,
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 –
just how to begin when confusion
while morning sunlight
could indicate the time is right.
We touch one another in so many different ways,
often without a glance of reality,
or perhaps there is while naivetee provides an over-riding
response to a necessary grounding.
We sometimes will not see that expression
when in an afterthought
we might come to terms with asking
what did just happen a minute or two
we became unaware of just who we might be
in that last moment, encounter, hopeful rendezvous.
Or maybe we became another’s distant nightmare.
We cannot really ever imagine beyond ourselves,
though we often wish we might,
the philosophy of our dreams stays generally alone
with us, only.
I might want to share my life with you,
yet I would imagine so many quiet variables
those places in our mind we remain puzzled by
when we do discover new energy,
delightful deception without a caustic outcome.
What is it really gets in the way of our hopes, dreams,
or are they all simply passions,
those impulsive reflections upon desire,
the motives for what we believe we must have,
and then all is truly lost, again.
I once stood outside and waited for her
because I loved her and didn’t really care that much
about how she felt,
I couldn’t write a hollywood script with my presence,
at least not one worth the dirt I stood upon,
instead, I became just another statistic
I have to really wonder sometimes if my goals are for
without altruistic value,
are they designed with you in mind.
Strangers in the mix of figuring out our lives
Perhaps listening is more important than sight.