A mantra with meaning,
a saying to suggest,
quiet in its discretion, its wishful
Oh, to have the time to say the words,
to know the reaction, to see the eyes,
to feel the lips, to taste the passion,
to understand the mystique
is drawn inside our own set of fashion,
our world together,
it is in that quiet alley way,
where romance did lean against stucco walls,
inside a broken world,
where healing hands and gasps and fires
did maintain some semblance of peace
internalized by the conflict of our realities.
Oh to know the sweet spirit of love
in all its natural abandon
preserved by the symbolic nature
of heart and soul.
Oh to taste the fire of dewy eyes in winter’s landscape.
One might wonder
to know the
to want the motion,
to make love.
One might imagine,
when in the moment,
the sort allows our bodies
to land upon, inside, beyond,
to feel this surreal nature
of sensuality drawn upon
years inside a quiet energy,
finding that reach,
sweet serenity is a cliche
that might not ever describe
the truly incomprehensible
knowing the moment.
One might always
asking the reveal,
swift is the response
to finding her mystique
knowing, believing, wishing
such aspect of truth
when lost in the throes
of wishing only peace
to be the
center of woman.
It is with provocative pose,
she sets the tone,
eyes to wander wonder,
she is beauty in repose.
Her glance is private,
allowing only certain eyes
to bask in sweet elegance,
the shadows of love,
lost in the element of disguise.
Oh to wander along naked skin,
to feel the arch of a sensitive touch,
we might last forever,
if when the two hearts we pose,
would, could venture beyond fantasy.
Poised and beyond reach,
a seduction sweet to savor,
hers is a lovely sensuality
any man might favor,
yet one should always know,
the respect of her labor is true.
Oh to relish in the prowess
is her innocence
to know the travels sweet lips
would venture once her eyes
give allowance to departure.
Then there is the essence of reach
for hers is a quiet and dignified center.
There is a difference in tone,
a solitary figure in a moonlit backdrop,
the sky is a canvas capable of new horizons,
if only for a moment the character
might stand completely still.
Completely still inside a memory,
holding onto the silence,
a wishful recall
a sweet response to time
is all the solitary figure might choose.
Might choose offers certain doubt,
when realizing how time plays a role
in knowing love,
he does want to stand there forever,
in the hope that stillness might be a blessing.
She is that fond imagination,
the caress of somber spirituality,
the sort that energy
speaks of out loud
without any reservation, ever.
I once recall a story of a man,
caught inside a cycle of quiet remind,
always pushing, forever angling,
imagining the final stride would
accentuate his peak, yet the fall …
There is a breaking point in sanity,
when beyond the notion of real,
the body might sacrifice comfort,
instead a forever lust toward peace,
will always compel a forgiveness ahead.
When walking alone hopeful by design,
I would the eternal march quiet resign.
We can feel the drift, the silence moves granules of sand,
though every day seems the same,
the earth below our feet, naked in the heat,
has shifted its weight to give credence to another morning,
another beginning, a new settling,
a quiet recall of the night before.
Yet the sea is waiting,
and we are the ones that want to know,
but will never be told
only expected to undertake whatever resilience
suggests we wait.
I would wait for
to hold truth in my arms again,
yet today, I look to the water,
the edge of my life begins
when the last tide decides to waft inside
a naked place,
where security no longer lingers,
it is as buoyant as a summer breeze,
carry me away,
carry my soul, my heart,
In life lives a fantasy,
a gentle reminder of a soft journey,
one rampant with a passion,
driven by the essence,
the true nature of knowing,
her every curvaceous tone,
whether it be intellect
or the naked reality …
In imagining woman,
might the man remember
an eternal mystique
shall be her endearment,
the freedom she carries to be
just lovely in every aspect
of her being.
Woe that we do forget
in the throes of a neediness,
a loss of contentment
with recognizing peace,
instead tossing aside the value,
that originating seduction,
for a callous recall,
one that may cause confusion,
detract from any innocence,
to inherit an ugliness toward
It is in that pause,
the reflection of man,
we can realize
there is truth inside the goddess
of our humanity,
that spiritual reckoning
suggests a karmic wave
of true innocence,
the essence of woman
be shared only in the eyes
of sacred love.
in that we recognize beyond the physical pleasures,
there is a softness,
one meant to be honored,
yet, so often in the throes of our personal passions,
we forget to take homage in their own gentle offerings.
we attach sacrifice,
to suggest she is meant to be privileged,
at the expense of man,
without realizing her own contributions,
are meant to be the truth,
not a fantasy,
but a spiritual guidance in the heart of all Man.
I know she is beautiful,
and I relish the opportunity to tell her so,
when in her eyes, I see magic, I see the sunrise,
and I do as evening pulls often feel the sunset,
in her demeanor when a peace,
a needed vacation from all of the torment,
might become her personal homage.
I see her.