I would like to be a writer. I began this site with amorous intentions, and over the course of time, I hope to have evolved as a male in an ever changing society that is today, recognizing the true beauty and elegance of woman. I am also into writing poetry. Come along for the ride.

Posts tagged “touch

Guilt in Love


It is the drowning,

a dark realization

when forgotten

the other

when each breath

suggests a dissonance,

an inability to know

their side

her own survival

depends clearly upon

a deeper more sudden

impact of fear

an uneasiness

a storm that will rage

internal turmoil.

 

While he delves toward

the highest crest

her innate ability

a want to survive

rests upon a cool autumn morning

the leaves have fallen

it is time to sleep now.

 


The Pleasure of Touch


That’s what I miss,

when I imagine

skin touching skin,

the energy received inside

the moment

in a surround of her passion,

my fingertips,

her hands,

our skin, our lips, are bodies,

intertwine themselves

in a hurried expression

a sensuality

we both feel now in the imagination

we choose to live by

without the privilege of knowing

a longer sojourn

inside each other’s dreams.

 

It is that touch

reminds me of beauty,

her gasps

my leaps to find her center,

to slowly bring arousal beyond the point where she …

we understand

together,

the element of touch,

is our greatest yearn,

when for now,

we rely upon our intellect

to help us through this

silence.

 

Do as we may,

there is truth in how

our human condition,

may yearn eternally,

once having touched

each other’s soul.


Touching Me


A soft … gift,

when I can feel her hand,

touch me,

a need,

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,

a reach,

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,

her touch,

when I might feel your hand,

touch me.


Just To Touch


if you knew,

well perhaps you do,

the hours that I dream,

imagine,

visualize a quiet space,

I’ve removed your linens,

naked skin,

my fingertips ache as I create

a moment.

 

To start with her shoulders,

finding pressure points,

whereby my touch,

might cause her gasp,

an intimacy surely

can occur

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.

 

 


What Cannot Be Designed


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 understand,

‘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 touch,

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,

the glance,

eyes that suggest compassion,

a smile and holding your need next to my own,

and it is there I remain,

always here.


The Little Things


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.


Stunning Appraisal


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.