What worth is the starlight, what use the moons glow when there is no you to kiss beneath them.
The oceans symphony might as well be silence for without you there is no one to dance with.
The soft sands may well be molten for who else would walk beside me.
The summer breeze could blow askance for with out you who spares a glance.
Come home my love, come and see.
How your absence sickens me.
How I am weary.
Come home for I long to hear the wordless way you say you love me. Come home and we can finally be, all that shimmered between you and me!
Thursday, March 25, 2021
Monday, March 22, 2021
Woman
There is something indefinable in your beauty, a rare clean quality that cuts me like a knife.
The angles of your face covered in such fine fine skin, a galaxy of silk sprinkled with constellations of freckles. Each one an invitation to kisses. The high fine planes of your face, punctuated by your compelling mouth.
An incredible hit of sweetness amid all your planes and angles, fascinating sweeps of sherbet colour, their soft fullness a distraction.
I think of the brush that swept you in colour, and those Hands that mounded your strength and softness, grateful to the stars that died so their components could be made into the dips made for my kisses. Into expanses of velvet softness,the valleys of your body a land I could become lost in. No maps, forging paths in the softness, hearing your heartbeat jump and conducting orchestras comprised of sighs and muscle pulses, the high sacred language of sighs we speak in codes, reading braille promises to your seeking fingers.
You are honey to my mouth and I horde each taste, coming to you like a pilgrim seeking your taste before all else. Baptized in sensation and spine arching lightening, our bed is my temple, I can think of nothing else.
Where would I not go if your eyes beckoned me, beyond the border of what I know, I am falling and flying. I am taken entirely by their color, which is never but always the same. Gazing in wonder wrapped in my own thoughts, my walking daydream with a name and a voice is in the world.
I write you in reams and the ink runs deep like my thoughts when I think of us, I could write you forever like my time when I think of us, but now I don't want to write you, I aches to feel you because my words are poor response to the magic you make with your hands...I get wild fires and I can only give you these incandescent sparks from my memories of a light so vital, I can't capture it in these streams of word.
The angles of your face covered in such fine fine skin, a galaxy of silk sprinkled with constellations of freckles. Each one an invitation to kisses. The high fine planes of your face, punctuated by your compelling mouth.
An incredible hit of sweetness amid all your planes and angles, fascinating sweeps of sherbet colour, their soft fullness a distraction.
I think of the brush that swept you in colour, and those Hands that mounded your strength and softness, grateful to the stars that died so their components could be made into the dips made for my kisses. Into expanses of velvet softness,the valleys of your body a land I could become lost in. No maps, forging paths in the softness, hearing your heartbeat jump and conducting orchestras comprised of sighs and muscle pulses, the high sacred language of sighs we speak in codes, reading braille promises to your seeking fingers.
You are honey to my mouth and I horde each taste, coming to you like a pilgrim seeking your taste before all else. Baptized in sensation and spine arching lightening, our bed is my temple, I can think of nothing else.
Where would I not go if your eyes beckoned me, beyond the border of what I know, I am falling and flying. I am taken entirely by their color, which is never but always the same. Gazing in wonder wrapped in my own thoughts, my walking daydream with a name and a voice is in the world.
I write you in reams and the ink runs deep like my thoughts when I think of us, I could write you forever like my time when I think of us, but now I don't want to write you, I aches to feel you because my words are poor response to the magic you make with your hands...I get wild fires and I can only give you these incandescent sparks from my memories of a light so vital, I can't capture it in these streams of word.
Troubled Mind-thinking thoughts
I wish I had some noble intention, some grand deed I wished to see accomplished through my plannings and mechanization, instead I have desire, pure and unadulterated, naked raw and damn exquisite. It is roaring through my blood with my blood, the idea makes me deadly sin lust for the reality. The sheer force of need is almost too much for me to bear.
Like parched earth, hides a multitude of potential so too does my seemingly innocent skin hide the secret of my myriad fantasies. Spontaneous combustion, completion and exhaustion inside the sacred chambers of my mind, finally I set match to the pyre I have raised. Standing inside the reality of rejection my stubborn senses remember the sensation of your fingers on my skin, the taste of your mouth on mine. It is a million tiny things I can not begin to name. So much sensation, too many emotions and oh , the things I imagined doing. I wonder if you have ever been desired like this before.
By someone like me, lavishing hours of fantasy to the final unwrapping and consumption. Like loving you so softly, you may wonder at the sweet insinuation of my skin on yours, in delicate traceries and slow sure strokes, singing hymns to your beauties, till your skin warmed to my worship. Making a soft dissolution of your boundaries,until you expire in breathy whispers of your fidelity. Sinking sweet words inside your skin, until any who tasted you after me, would leave with a sugar high. imagine swallowing the sounds of your pleasure, sweat slicked skin, sliding home to the heart of me. Darling I will leave you spent inside the universe of our creation.
Though other times, I want it harder. I just want to be your thing, taken. Like you have no equal anywhere, like no one but you can touch this. slide the knife's edge of pain and pleasure, make me writhe and rise to your fingers. School me, how you like. Leave your fingerprints on me and aches in me. Place those long strong strong fingers over my mouth, drown the screams you draw. till all I hear is the sound of my own ragged breathing and tell me thick with desire how you want to f*&%k me harder. Primal and instinctive, leave nothing left. Take all of myself in multiples, in screams in spine bowing pleasure. Leaving torn clothes and exposed tenderness, make me surrender, leave me mindless in you, keep this big brain silent. Make me nerve ends and sensation. Make me first woman, take it like no one has before you, let me remember you in aches and slow motions on the the morning after.
Set me free, name me custodian of that magnificent body. Let me explore you, no compass needed, Let me learn from senses; the smooth taste of you, let me roll it like whiskey all smoke and caramel, till that taste makes my mind shudder in memory of the pleasure associated with you. Let me break all those taboos, till there is nothing left. First time, life memory. Sugar i will redefine your idea of what pleasure can be, put you till the edge of your sanity. I am this ready, this fulsome, in my power. Baby I will make it so none can come after me, kiss consume each second of your precious attention. Perhaps it is best i do not indulge my pleasures, i am always a recovering addict to your particular brand of slow poison. . .
Sunday, March 21, 2021
letter to a girl child
Dear She
I just thought someone should let you know, you are magnificent.
I wanted to tell you that yesterday, you broke my heart, that moment when you let them make you feel like nothing, when you listened to the world that moment just broke my heart and I thought someone should let you know, you are beautiful.
I don't want to tell you that beauty doesn't matter because beauty is everywhere. It is in the savagery of a preying jaguar, dark and deadly but it also lives in the sweet domesticity of the whorled rose. Why do you listen to the crowd, I write this letter, this passionate declamation in praise of your beauties. Beauties, plural. A wolf does not long for the antlers of the deer, she is implicitly perfect in tooth and claw for what she is meant to be. Why then do you look upon others and long for their ideals. Your body that you seem determined to starve, wax, cut and inject into submission is an amalgamation, a celebration of love. You yourself, walk this earth as living proof that inside human skin lies the capacity to create a miracle.
Each whorl of skin, is home to sensation every millimeter delicately sensitive to touch, touch the elemental language of humanity. Your skin is singular, every marking a maker's distinction, your Creator loved you this much. Have you seen the way the sun luxuriates in your hair making it dance with motes of light, this light that travels through the dark of the universe for years, it dances through hair, delights in the silken nets.
I swear every time I look into your eyes I am reminded why humanity chases the dream of space. The mercurial color, the way they darken when you let the world bring your tears and the sure light inside them when you pray. Your eyes are like clear quicksand, drawing people in to drown them in the storm of emotions so clearly writ inside them. A fringe of spiky lashed rebellion, with your eyes I would raze the world to submission.
Sometimes I watch you and wonder how I share space with something this wondrous. I know you hate your body, you measure it by models, you weigh it with magazines. But you have a vintage shape, curved and deep. You may not be heroin chic, you are burlesque. You are not the daisy, you are the night-blooming jasmine, a haunting all-pervading scent of seduction. The size of your jeans is but an arbitrary measurement. Your body is an outright statement of feminity, a declaration of womanity.
Why do you look after those who are far too rough, far too steeped in themselves to understand the value of your softness. Their affections will be triumphed by one who will see the delicacy inside your heart,one who is grown enough to reach up to you and not grasp you down to them. I wish you would see the illuminant light you shine in the world, you yourself. These things of the world, these things you measure yourself against, their glow is but a poor reflection of the true light of you. You draw others like moths they come, why do you think?
Don't let the world twist that innocent wild child dance you were born with. There is a reason your core is softness, like my core is strength. We balance each other, a yin and a yang and because I know you, I can state without any reservation, dear heart, you are beauty. Know it in your soul, walk with it like a cherished secret, make them ache to know why you walk like a conqueror. Why do you seek to be one of many when you are a masterstroke.
Take it from one who knows
I just thought someone should let you know, you are magnificent.
I wanted to tell you that yesterday, you broke my heart, that moment when you let them make you feel like nothing, when you listened to the world that moment just broke my heart and I thought someone should let you know, you are beautiful.
I don't want to tell you that beauty doesn't matter because beauty is everywhere. It is in the savagery of a preying jaguar, dark and deadly but it also lives in the sweet domesticity of the whorled rose. Why do you listen to the crowd, I write this letter, this passionate declamation in praise of your beauties. Beauties, plural. A wolf does not long for the antlers of the deer, she is implicitly perfect in tooth and claw for what she is meant to be. Why then do you look upon others and long for their ideals. Your body that you seem determined to starve, wax, cut and inject into submission is an amalgamation, a celebration of love. You yourself, walk this earth as living proof that inside human skin lies the capacity to create a miracle.
Each whorl of skin, is home to sensation every millimeter delicately sensitive to touch, touch the elemental language of humanity. Your skin is singular, every marking a maker's distinction, your Creator loved you this much. Have you seen the way the sun luxuriates in your hair making it dance with motes of light, this light that travels through the dark of the universe for years, it dances through hair, delights in the silken nets.
I swear every time I look into your eyes I am reminded why humanity chases the dream of space. The mercurial color, the way they darken when you let the world bring your tears and the sure light inside them when you pray. Your eyes are like clear quicksand, drawing people in to drown them in the storm of emotions so clearly writ inside them. A fringe of spiky lashed rebellion, with your eyes I would raze the world to submission.
Sometimes I watch you and wonder how I share space with something this wondrous. I know you hate your body, you measure it by models, you weigh it with magazines. But you have a vintage shape, curved and deep. You may not be heroin chic, you are burlesque. You are not the daisy, you are the night-blooming jasmine, a haunting all-pervading scent of seduction. The size of your jeans is but an arbitrary measurement. Your body is an outright statement of feminity, a declaration of womanity.
Why do you look after those who are far too rough, far too steeped in themselves to understand the value of your softness. Their affections will be triumphed by one who will see the delicacy inside your heart,one who is grown enough to reach up to you and not grasp you down to them. I wish you would see the illuminant light you shine in the world, you yourself. These things of the world, these things you measure yourself against, their glow is but a poor reflection of the true light of you. You draw others like moths they come, why do you think?
Don't let the world twist that innocent wild child dance you were born with. There is a reason your core is softness, like my core is strength. We balance each other, a yin and a yang and because I know you, I can state without any reservation, dear heart, you are beauty. Know it in your soul, walk with it like a cherished secret, make them ache to know why you walk like a conqueror. Why do you seek to be one of many when you are a masterstroke.
Take it from one who knows
Monday, July 25, 2016
Happily ever after
Why are evil queens evil.
have they stood
here
Here where I stand
Watching everything
everything they loved
everything they dreamed
everything they secreted
ride into the sunset
Why are evil queens evil . . .
have they stood
here
Here where I stand
feeling destruction
destroying the castles
built on air
of fantasy
whims slaughtered
Why are evil queens evil
Did they stop believing
in white knights
in happily ever afters
After the conflagration of their dreams
did they simply wish to pay the world back in kind
Why are evil queens evil?
tired of being destroyed
by princesses
some destroy the world
others like I
simply seek
to burn themselves
away to nothing
happily ever after
forever
Wednesday, January 27, 2016
In The Badlands
This is an in-between place.I have ventured far past the borders.
I am firmly outside
outside the cold iron gates.
Far from the regimented
squared order
far outside the borders
of my icy logic.
There where order reigns
There where I once knew
every step;
and how it should
placed.
Now I am here
In this in between place
Chasing the wraith
the sparkling specter
of the momentary connection;
I felt to your spirit.
Here in the badlands.
here in chaos.
Somehow here
is colder
edges sharper
and in the dark
sharp things stalk.
Here in the purgatory
outside the pulsing summer lands
of your love.
Where I have journeyed
chasing possibility;
To the edges of reason
to find you are a mirage
and this paradise I sought
naught but an absinthe dream.
but the scientist is gone
and I am this poet without a poem
This lover
devoid of love.
Monday, November 30, 2015
Trace
I watch the last traces of you swirl out from my skin
I mourn each little bit of you as it leaves me.
Each sting and sizzle out my skin, the tiny death of some lost forgotten hope.
A dream of domesticity
of softness
of warm hands
and answering smiles.
Each time I wash off the trace
I try to forget
I never wish to remember your face.
This last trace of you
deep inside my secret ambitions
is the last to go
Like some festering injury
It has poisoned my freedom
and traces of you run with my blood.
I hate the hunger inside my once clear gaze
but each time I stand at the river
I wash away the trace
Soon I will be free
Free of the truest thing
this warrior heart has encountered
Free to wonder
Free to dream
But in each dream
My unfettered consciousness
sees
only thee.
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