I honestly don’t know where my head is,
drifting along some riverbank,
a reminder of the man across the way,
that sort of damp soil,
yet we were together, alone
in a sort of, romantic way.
Self-conscious in our attraction to each other,
given the nature of the fisherman nearby,
we were never sure if his attention
was upon his animal, the golden running about,
or if he consciously wondered about
the two of us,
or maybe we did, we always do,
like any quiet stroll along the riverbank.
I remember I could rest my chin on your shoulder,
feel you pull yourself back to press lips on my cheek,
your hair cascades around me,
I can sense you,
I recognize the sweet air of your being,
like a quiet hug in the middle of the day,
in a neighborhood, we may.
I do wish to suggest, this is the state of my way,
when alone in my quiet mind, I am thinking …
wishing, wanting, always wondering, when time
will allow my rest upon
sweet naked shoulders.
For there is little else to suggest,
what is the fair nature of her season,
when an urgency to respond, let energy overcome
is all that seems necessary in a day.
Glance toward the beauty of woman,
she is that provocateur, a natural sense
of human nature on display,
yet, her inner peace ought be a certainty.
Indeed, the summer air does so trigger
an elegance in nature, in primal response,
yet so is the wonder of our soul
drawn to fulfill each moment we despair.
While walking alone today, a sunlit stage,
I do imagine her, in simple luxury,
the key to sweet solace her unspoken
elegance be my charge to rest my heart upon.
All knowing and understood,
the seeds planted,
the emotions already in check,
they speak volumes on a clear blue day,
when energy explodes,
a cacophony of brilliance in
That is love,
it is a wise love,
a giving, and nearly spiritual reckoning,
That is love that isn’t needing any urgency,
it simply is,
My mind, my body, my eyes,
have this perpetual desire,
though it’s, well, known, has indeed,
been done, thought about, imagined,
I’ve read about it, been turned on by it,
felt the enticement of the excitement
Yet I cannot still call it my own,
a thoughtful repose,
a candid shot in the mind of others,
I still only count upon the fantasy.
A gray day, an indiscernible disappointment
for others it is the excitement,
people watching, people seeing, people wanting,
different shapes and atmosphere and mood.
In the coffee shop on a simple afternoon,
where the stories are being told,
yet we are all so left alone.
A dark persona meant to simply allow space,
moves with a silent purpose,
eyes upon her are anticipated,
yet she has practiced diversion,
allows her life to be contained,
cup in hand, glance to the walls,
all filled with humanity inside their frame.
Choose the table,
please, I’ve arranged myself for you,
to be nearby, close enough to know eyes
suggest a scene,
only if you decide,
I can wish upon a dream,
I can hope to set the tone for this scene.
Wraparound legs, a turtleneck plays inside silk design,
she is stunning in her desire to be the elegance
she certainly portrays in a delicious
Sit there – my eyes dart away, my expression flush,
I wait in hope this lovely woman
will allow my eyes to exchange smiles with her,
though there is more to the story,
a lust, a desire, a certain silent seduction,
a pairing of ideals, of mood, of anticipation,
I would if given avenue, begin a quiet caress,
soft shoulders that speak of need,
lips, with little of a painted display,
yet certain to provide the sensuality my yearn
might feel if given a key to this fantasy.
She sips, while book open, her eyes devour
this moment with a delicious affect
speaks to my loins, I do want her now,
she glances my way,
the intensity of my need widens her eyes,
her book closes, a sip, a moment to ponder,
she steps out of my fantasy, to yet an exit nearby.
Deftly, my books close, book bag sorted,
my exit apparent,
I reach the car,
step inside with my state of mind,
anyone might ascertain,
yet remains completely my own,
for the moment.
‘Did that work’ she says, with a smile, buckling in.
I glance upon lithesome … eyes,
the pullover she knows is my favorite,
a complimentary scarf so elegant,
I gather a breath, ‘Oh my, I do so … ‘
sweet lips entangle my reaching gasp.
I stepped outside today,
the world opening before my eyes,
a light rain,
a soft, quiet, lovely reminder
that allows me to return to a place I cherish
when in the silence of an afternoon gray,
she would …
I could …
and together the rains would walk our lives
through a maze of delicious passion and delight,
the sort of real,
that moves beyond this simple analogous notion.
It is the rain,
the tears of our natural cause,
the places we do travel together,
all alone and en masse engaged in
an elegant cleansing,
it is that time,
stand in surreal sensuality,
feel the tease of a reaching climax,
the heat of our own passions
making allowance for this sweet response
We have these imaginations,
they are a fuel to our sometime need to be real,
to compel ourselves by a photograph
to maybe believe, such a setting to be true.
We do look the part, the perfect world,
a smile, a posture, held hands, eyes that cannot
tell a lie,
at least in this single moment.
There are the occasions that call for such a facade,
an instant moment when the story belonged
far elsewhere than did the
immediacy of a setting.
Perfect worlds, imperfect settings,
though the human condition
survives all moments beyond a mindful
reaction to our own certain circumstance.
My perfect world today, is far away from celluloid,
it is in the immediacy of her eyes, the ones I dream about
in a setting I choose to believe,
is in an eternal moment, her moment … hers is love.
Ah, the morning, the initial waking pause,
Reflect upon what is now real in our lives,
Oh, treat my senses with a memory cause,
I did recall the grace her wonder revives.
In this the start of a day, a rain falls gentle
An indication of some cleansing love alive
In my heart and soul, it is a fundamental
Reality suggests love is only meant to thrive.
In the moment, I dream the recall I knew
When in my arms we did travel a distance
Again, in the sweet twilight, a kiss so new
Always the nature of time recreates chance.
For we are compelled to always wonder now,
As passion designs a certain elegance in how.