Writing Love Stories

I’m a romantic. I love a good story of passion between two people, from the scintillating nature of their sensuality, to the quiet elegance of touch in an intimate moment that reflects what eyes will search upon. I love the notion of heart and soul obsession with one another, a constant of the desire and wishful nature of finding one another imagining the beauty of whom they are, they might be,  together. I do so enjoy being able to create a wonderful love story in poetry, one that causes arousal in the reader, a sort of take me away fantasy that leaves them grateful for the adventure.

I have found myself struggling in recent months because I have this seemingly fraudulent experience with love, and so I began writing about first loves, long ago loves, times in my life where I recognized love to be something that took away all of my loneliness, so completely I couldn’t feel anything except the beauty of sweet delight inside the mystique of love. The word fraudulent is a powerful assessment I can only attribute to my being alone with my feelings. Oh that wasn’t always the case, but it is today. The reasons are not negative, they are more based upon preservation.

Personally, I’m willing to take risk for the love I feel; however, in order for it to be real, then both parties have to feel the same. One cannot outdo the other’s focus upon finding peace with themselves. One can only support the efforts of another. That to me is love. There exists the confusion of love as well, because one might still believe what the other has convinced themselves as otherwise.

There exists again my struggle, so now my love stories have trepidation. They contain unknowns because only I am writing them, and I haven’t clue their reception. I only know there continues to be in my heart the beauty of woman, the muse, the loveliness of a person whom holds my heart and soul, and gathers the energy that allows me on occasion to find the words necessary to continue the next chapter of my love story.

Would You Then

If in the quiet moonlight,

we danced, our eyes,

suggestive,

would you if my lips

did find a naked shoulder

a nervous gasp …

 

Would you then,

while my hands now

felt liberty

the fabric that might entice

a man to explore further,

while you rose in my palms

my lips now buried in

your neck,

soft to reach your passion

 

might you as I did fingertips

find your buttocks,

the extension of my hand

directed by a movement

drawn in sequence to your own mouth

insistent upon my own,

tongues twirling,

 

Would you then find your center

to come alive for the beauty of such is

a delicious notion

while your eyes

turned to the sea

to allow my own waves of desire

let us drift toward some

long forgotten island of

sweet sensuality …

 

would you imagine while I did begin.

That Occasion

Stars align in a cosmic evolution

bullshit

all I want is a piece of pie,

not a dramatic determination

as much as I could prove myself worthy,

in the end

where it is I want to be,

I would still be lost in …

lost in that …

some transparent atmosphere

that ten minutes earlier

seemed so fulfilling

yet right now

further away from me than I might imagine

I’m really

rather adamant

with this need

a familiar place,

centered inside

the quiet relief

found only in sweet beauty

of such is the elegant grace of woman,

her,

this remarkable feeling

comes over me

tells me,

I’m not an idiot,

this is wonderful,

this now,

touch,

me.

 


~ finding my way, a personal journey ~

Because I Wanted What You Held Inside

yes, it was the passion in your eyes,

the way your words drove me,

made me want to never look away,

for you to know I was there,

searching, desire, a certain lust of your being,

and I did stay with you for as long as you might let me

if it meant one day

I would find myself inside of you, journeying further as your own need,

drove me to explore every aspect of whom you might be,

woman,

exquisite in all of your natural magic,

I would listen to your whisper in my ear,

that final meant to be endeared gasp,

that, ‘yes now, I want you to be inside of me’

that this is whom we are,

and found together

our center is a one ness,

a trivial description,

yet in sweet simplicity,

I have been allowed to  know

woman

Occasional Fantasy

Those moments

when gasps accelerate

the notion of passion that

coveted imagination

allows the mind to travel

inside the fantasy

of sweet alluring desire,

the idea of release,

a wanton wish

to travel inside her world

while she might indeed wrap

her own lips around

his select posture,

the two then lost inside

one another,

gathering storm

whereby the reality of a certain

soul-framing outcome

would match the ache

our hearts feel

when alone.


~ just finding my way, a personal journey ~