In brokenness the most passionate memories are all that are left. There is a deep sorrow still unknown to the yet bereft from love’s abandonment. There is a well with perpetual depths filled with the tears of all who have wept. There is healing in the whispers of an angel’s breath. There is a profound intimacy that is beautifully transcendent. There is affectionate and passionate sentiment from kisses on the neck. There is a silence when lovers are in each other’s arms that cause tears to fall. There is a tenderness when making love that expresses the intent of the heart.
Category: Poetry
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It is the eyes that are telling when gazing upon the countenance of a woman. The delicateness of her is immeasurably beautiful. She is a pink rose in the morning dew. You must love her to draw water from the deep well of her soul. The wonderful sent of her blow-dried hair could be considered something so simple, but in the arms of her lover it becomes something deeply intimate. The crown she wears is a crown of passionate kisses from the lover that truly loves her. The Sun is her father, and the North Star is her mother. She was conceived in December in the coldest winter that envied the warmth of her. The beauty of her countenance is the manifestation of the radiance of her essence that lies beneath the surface. She is the Phoenix eternally rising, her diamond eyes breathtakingly shining as she stares upon a celestial horizon.
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Where were you when I needed you? All I asked for was understanding and compassion. It wasn’t about sex. It wasn’t about fucking. I valued you as a woman, not body parts for selfish sexual satisfaction. I truly tried in every beautiful way to convey my emotions. Still, I apologize for my own errors. Still, my heart sends you loving whispers. With every intimate moment I reached to caress your essence. With every kiss I wanted you to know that I loved you with everything within me. So many years are spent in unhappiness in the unforgiving purgatory of pretense. So much fucking time is wasted with trivial and bullshit arguments. One thing that I can say about myself is, I always gave you room to vent. At risk of looking weak I would shed tears and tell you that I didn’t want to leave. You once were my reprieve. You were the life that I breathed. In my anxiety, sometimes I felt like I couldn’t breathe. I wanted to be the man that you needed. I wanted to bring the comfort of security, love and financial stability. I wanted a transcendent intimacy. I wanted you to evoke strong emotions of affection when you looked at me. I wanted you to be exceedingly joyous and happy. Perhaps you are happiest without me. Perhaps I am a romantic fool steeped in some ridiculous love fantasy. Perhaps I should beseech the ghost of Norma Jean and converse with her deeply about life, love and tragedy. The winters are so cold; baby, they are so cold. Fall is already here, and another desolate winter is near. I see you through my tears — baby, I swear that I still see you through my tears.
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Silver hair brushed back gracefully
Elegance of a certain age
The radiance of long distinguished beauty
She knows intimacy intimately
There is potency in her ecstasy
In six inch heels she’s extremely sexy
Confident in her femininity
Many times her heart has been broken
Still she loves profoundly deeply
She is a graceful woman
She’s a woman in all her glory -
Wailing utterances pierce the red twilight sky that cause reverberations in the atmosphere and angels to cry. Holding a wooden rosary, a wise and beautiful lady named Constancia once told me, Victor, in life you will face adversity, but you are the son of a mother whose fierce spirit was born of me. Without fear, boldly take hold of your destiny.
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Size seven heaven grace petite feet — through an opening newly pedicured toes peep. Six inch heels give the beauty of feminine subtly the perfect arch. In pointed toe stilettos through hellfire a woman could walk. A cocktail dress and flats do not go together like oil and water — after an invite to a New York City rooftop party, a trip to Nine West is always in order, or Saks Fifth Avenue for even more desired attire. Over form-fitting denim, stiletto heeled thigh high boots set the streets on fire. Scuffing newly purchased “So Kate” Louboutin’s is almost a sin; the contrast of black leather against red soles is almost amazing. “Hi, I’d like to try these on in size seven,” says a beautiful woman wearing a black V-neck backless mini-dress and Chanel pearl stud earrings. Heavy makeup is not her thing, but frequent trips to Barneys New York was when it was open. People compliment her on the fragrance she’s wearing, her dress and the heels that adorn her. The shoe salesperson says, “If they’re too tight, you can go a half-size bigger;” she says, “Thank you, I know, but never.”
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Love is accommodating. Love is not rigid in its nature — its elasticity stretches to the limit and still holds everything together. Forgiveness is Love’s greatest gift. Love bestows grace and is gracefully beautiful. Love’s deepest depths may require sacrifice without acknowledgement, thankfulness or reciprocation from its receiver. Love’s essence is manifested in true believers. Love is steadfast in excellent health and more-so in illness near death. Love is not sex, but through intimate sexual expressions Love can be made manifest. Love is eternal. Sometimes, it can be viewed as senseless and irrational. By nature, Love is transcendent with many intricate layers in beautiful colors. Love may require you to stand against opposing sentiment without even an inch of relent. Love is a precious gift heaven sent. Even in the face of death, Love will provide you unfathomable strength. Love is often proclaimed with ultra sincerity in last breaths. Love is spiritual. Love is ethereal. Love touches and heals many people. In Love’s embrace one can can vulnerable. Love is gorgeous. Love is beautifully intimate. Love is sought by those who betrayed the attributes of it in their last moments. Love is a child that causes exceedingly great pain to his mother in labor but after, she cries joyous tears as he is in the embrace of his protector with whom he will share a bond forever. Love is an emotional cord braided with another that could never be severed. Love is sincere and passionate in its endeavors. Love, are the words left with me by my mother before I lost her.
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They use the word LOVE so loosely, corrupting the meaning and tarnishing the radiance of its beauty. I despise their blasphemy, for they have never loved and will never. Their hearts are dark, manipulating emotions for power, sex and money. They are void of morality, cold, without empathy. They whisper lies that sound so sweet — their victims fall into a vicious trap of deceit. Oh, Lord, please help them see it. Heaven, before they are totally broken and the tears run, please help them see it. They prey on the vulnerable, the already victimized, and the heartbroken then intentionally hurt them again. They use the word LOVE as a potent weapon leaving lives in ruin and utter devastation. They will seek LOVE when destruction is upon them, but they will not find it. They will ask for mercy in their final hour of death, but there will be no absolution for their transgressions. In their elder years they will suffer, gaunt with the darkness that condemns them. Blindness will strike them, yet they will clearly see the faces and names of their endless victims. They will reach for the comfort of angels wings, but there will be nothing. Despair will overtake them, and for LOVE they will give every and anything, falling on their knees and praying, saying: Please love me, Please love me, Please love me, incessantly, over and over again in breathless whispering.
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I will kiss you in your sleeping. I will comfort you in your weeping. I will hold you in your dreaming. I will whisper the secrets of my soul to you in my speaking. I will always love you, not for your beauty or for sentiments of duty; I love you for just being. We embark on a new beginning — a beautiful union without ending. Now, with love in our eyes, let us consecrate the vows of our hearts at our wedding before mortal witnesses and the immortal in heaven.
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The constant object of men’s desire, her rejection of them brings their ire upon her. They fuck their wives and mistresses while fantasizing about her. Her lips, breasts, ass and hips entice their most carnal secrets. They become slaves to their cravings. Men stroke themselves to intense pleasure under warm water visualizing themselves fucking her. They are secretly obsessed even when they are with their significant others. Some would even offer significant sums of money to have her. In their failed attempts they call her Slut, in vitriolic anger. In stark hypocrisy they whisper to themselves that they love her; they would gladly fall on their knees to suck her cream colored pedicured toes and drink her bathwater. They’re soulless and emotionally inept; their offers do not move her. She has been with powerful men before, so men’s display of wealth is minimal and unimpressive in her eyes. They are not knowledgeable enough to know that she wants a man who can reach the depths of her soul and in genuine friendship allow love to grow in time.
Yes, she is deeply sexual and sensual, but she will give herself only to a man who truly loves her. The secret of her deepest pain is that she was violated in the worst way by her own father. In their discovery of her, they will discover the deep trauma she’s endured. But knowing they cannot have her, they whisper: Slut, Whore. Envious women call her, Jezebel and condemn her to hell. She is naturally beautiful and feminine needing no pretentious disguise. She has the most beautiful eyes. Men jeer with sexual gestures — they stare, and call her Slut as she walks by.
Intimate Compositions 