NSFW – Adults Only Please – 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 “poet

When While This Way


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

to her.

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

alone,

I wonder how much longer she can

let my need to share sensual dreams

with her,

her being by my side,

the scent of her,

lovely elegance,

stays in my mind,

forever.


Looking For My Self


Which part of our selves

do we rely upon to tell a story.

When is the mood right,

the feeling,

gives us the license to recognize just how far

the deeper end of things,

that place we’d rather never be,

is awaiting us.

 

When we get there,

is it the frozen imbalance,

the piece that allows us only to imagine,

without moving,

stationery in our self driven despair.

I remember one time looking out my picture window

the rains were evident,

and they were all hiding behind themselves,

I didn’t go outside that day.

 

I wish I could know because even despite

the time I sit alone,

I realize this is right,

where I need to be right now,

while she is

in her own peace,

quiet in the mind,

yet radiant in her smile.

 

Wherever we might be,

there seems a reason.


A Time Before Love


There is a valley,

we all have a vantage point,

it carries a visual acumen,

filled with a variable progress.

 

I often wonder of accurate planning

the desire is action together

Yet we know acrimony might ensue

certainly we obscure our agency to love.

 

Would we in time languish desire,

that eternal love allows change

when what we long remains

always beyond lament’s labor.

 

If when we understand the truth

our lives would use simple time,

our world might utilize a passion

discreet yet real, a union met.

 

Can we begin to earn our truths

without the fear of every venue

combing the grounds to even the fare,

the beauty in love’s eternal eye.

 

Value allow love unusual ease.

 

 

 


A Quiet Walk


I took a walk today,

we did,

a quiet stroll along the river,

we did,

lush leaves in a deep valley,

we spoke,

very little of anything.

 

What is it happens when two souls,

meant to share time,

do experience a fresh rainfall, wet leaves

while the journey continues

there isn’t a word shared, in fact there is

quiet reality.

I wonder if now might be anything like the same …

 

We do take walks together,

hands held,

we stroll into a sunlit summer

afternoon,

our eyes do search for one another,

all the time,

we know our lives are meant a freedom.

 

Now, the twilight speaks to mind,

wonder about her,

curious about him and the evening,

without her,

It is always that way we both agree,

until when,

there is a time when our walk will be

the same.


In Such A Low


my mother would reference this place,

a sort of mental ravine,

her heart might nearly stop,

eyes would glaze?

blood flow in her feigns might suddenly,

spill into one pool of spun lethargy.

This was not a place

she liked to be,

she’d often howl at the nature

of love and all it’s failings.

 

yet, she never discovered a solution?

only knew when inside?

not a lesser degree of pain

could ever exist.

 

where my mother was always never to pull the plug,

I might decide otherwise,

though my freedom would be sought?

there leaves a ring of memory,

clinging to everyone’s personal psyche.


In Respect to Time


Know me when I suggest, the time it took to favor love,

is like a flashing seen by few, yet felt eternally.

It is that moment when your eyes do sparkle

when your hair holds luster,

your legs, oh my …

 

When time allows my love to reach for your heart,

a slow methodical touch of passion that would suggest,

when gone again, I will love you from afar,

until next time,

until your eyes avail my desire.

 

Oh I cannot define the hours of need,

when my body yearns to feel the center of your dreams.

I only ask for this moment to become a memory,

all told a nostalgia repeats itself whenever could

our lives cross paths with importance and purpose.

 

We are the delicious nature of an instinctual reality,

it is that time we are known

the time it takes,

the moment when two lives become one,

oh to favor time.


It Is That Soft Touch


When we do go there,

our miles of dialogue discerned,

eyes searching, want,

the sudden though balanced

shift from anxiety to desire,

when we do, when touch

becomes central.

 

I imagine silk scarves covering her nakedness,

everything else is normalcy,

yet silk,

slides so effortlessly,

fun to pull with fingers,

or teeth,

more pleasurable to imagine,

the arousal, her skin, come alive

knowing she is being

loved in a physical way.

 

Oh there is certain in anticipation,

a rosy set of –

untouched yet yearning,

he sees, she knows, he knows, she …

when a moment allows the wetness

envelops one,

a gasp,

save the other, though always balance,

until there is a certain languid

sensuality that slides his mouth along lines,

toward another part of her nakedness,

his mouth plays, tongue tease,

she does again,

gasp, as his mouth lowers,

his hands return silks,

the scarves,

to naked, peaked – ,

shout to the touch, while

now the center will be his aim.

 

Oh to spend time here,

with hands that find,

with lips that do taste,

a desire in her eyes, looking for his,

for he is on a watch,

to notice her upper lip

settle in quiver

as yes he does,

the circles begin,

the fingertips respond, explore, search,

a designed rhythm

whereby bodies are moving,

his anticipation grinds into a corner

of silk bedding, save for later.

 

For now it is the duty, desire of his tongue,

to find her arch, that involuntary sweep of

unbridled passion,

that wanton nature,

of finding her rhythm to reach …

ah, breathe sweet, spent, curls and lips

rest upon my shoulder,

I would then feel her hands,

 

begin again …