A soft … gift,
when I can feel her hand,
a certain delight inside me,
perhaps a release, yet, more,
a natural telling,
a desire to know to understand,
to feel this passion,
a journey we have together,
is all inside the sweet review of her grasp.
We did arrive
with a kiss, one that let’s me close my eyes,
and yet I leave them open,
so I might see, experience, fall in love,
with your mystery, your walk, the sweet essence,
of her desire being drawn toward me,
when I might feel your hand,
if you knew,
well perhaps you do,
the hours that I dream,
visualize a quiet space,
I’ve removed your linens,
my fingertips ache as I create
To start with her shoulders,
finding pressure points,
whereby my touch,
might cause her gasp,
an intimacy surely
soft trace supple skin,
the lovely nature of her back,
a sensuality of sweet innocence.
Just to have this moment,
to offer you peace,
in silent desire,
lips replace hands,
only for whispers across your back,
to give you a sense of release,
let go of any pains, stress, preoccupations,
for they might all drift away,
if hands, my hands,
given time –
find your way.
An answer, when the silence looms,
we cannot determine an outcome,
though we might easily …
It is surely a known tension to become
our central focus,
when we are unable to find
any solution to the question in our mind.
I can only wish, she might hear me,
know I can listen to her need,
know it is beyond my reach,
and that is really alright with me.
‘I just can’t’
or perhaps it is as easy as,
‘need this time’
rather than be responsible for the anxiety
might be reached,
when decidedly the silence seems necessary.
Last night, I held your hand,
and in that quiet moment, just the peace,
of a silent love that shared we frustrate
our reality to such levels,
there is a depth of pain no anxiety might ever release.
So I do return to that touch,
eyes that suggest compassion,
a smile and holding your need next to my own,
and it is there I remain,
When our lives settle difficult,
we wonder what will be our next
manner of speaking,
how to convey a need for love.
When our passions so unbridled,
cause our eyes, our hands, our bodies,
to want to interweave, and grace
each other’s fire with further desire,
it is in the little things she does,
when her fingertips touch my own,
and sweep the skin to help me feel
her love is an everlasting reminder.
When in the moment, our moment,
she does let my hands fill themselves
with her hair, so she feels my touch
upon her neck to allow her eyes to live.
When in the day, we do spend hours
in simple tones, conscious of each other,
in a need to display love in a quiet,
in a quiet, in a quiet manner of touch.
When given license to explore
regions a man may only imagine,
when allowance a fingertip
might cause an unraveling passion,
there is little need for explanation,
only the source is a lovely fluid
motion, gives the senses reason
to entice that aspect of humanity,
will explosions enhance our climax.
There is a vague reality in the distinction
between love and sex. Where one
decides a motive is a self-driven
journey, another wishes only pleasure
to manifest itself in the eyes of a lover.
It is that deep delight when cast upon
our actions, when a touch, a twirl,
a slow methodical insertion can wake
that nirvana is delightful in presence.
Would that we might repeat ourselves
again, yes, once more, please, again, a
twilight response to evening’s reason.
Would that her desire begin to move,
as he himself feels this energy untapped.
Again, again, again, rest, taste, touch, breathe
a gasp will be suggestive in her eyes, his
draw to bring alive a new utterance,
a kiss, lips, alive we wish, please … again.
I know that after love making, I feel you pull me inside,
our helpless, sated bodies intertwined,
I know it is there I understand love,
when I can fall inside your eyes.
While the world around me exists in balance,
my mind is with you, searching, always yearning,
it is then I feel alive, when connected,
I always want to feel alive.
Inside a memory, I feel your body in every sensation,
touching, fresh scent, hearing gasps, see, tasting tears
for it is then I know,
when our hearts beat in unison, our words remember.
Then while the storm continues, the separation apparent,
I watch for any indication your presence
might offer the moment, to light up night stars,
to carry me beyond this dream toward a reality.
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.