O, you precious woman of elegance and beauty, I love you deeply, and I kiss you now in your eternal rest, wishing you a peaceful journey.
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See me in misery. See me in ecstasy. See me in naked vulnerability. See me in debilitating anxiety. See the progression of trauma that scarred my psyche. See me see the divinity in intimacy. See me ending communication with certain family abruptly. See me screaming loudly under dark skies holding a crucifix tightly in death’s valley. See and hear me attempt to explain my mind’s complexities. See the discovery of my Precognitive Empath abilities. See my passion for deep transcendent sensuality. See me weep as I read notes on the back of sentimental photographs silently. See the evolution of my appreciation for women and femininity. I am hopeful yet disconsolate; see my duality. Hear me angrily tell my mind’s distressing ruminations to shut the fuck up repeatedly as if I’m disconnected from my own body. Close your eyes tearfully, and briefly be the embodiment of my agony.
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It has been nine summers since she has been gone; still, her widower cries for her. She was the sunrise of many summers. The glorious bloom of spring flowers. Her kisses were a comfort in the late hours. Beauty and serenity flowed in the narrative of her whispers. She was an angelic warmth in the winter. Love moved like a river within her. Her physical beauty matched the essence of her ethereal nature. In the room she slept he aura still lingers. The one that she immensely loved still wears the symbol of his love for her on his finger. He holds the frame that holds her last picture, his soul reaching for her, he lovingly whispers, Lucia.
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Ice glides over stiffened nipples which are intermittently sucked and licked with eager warmth. The constant contrast in temperature increases the desire for a deeper pleasure. Slowly melting ice travels to lower erogenous zones that crave to be pleased. Erotic flesh yearns for cold numbness to tease and press against warm wetness. Moaning increases with every slight movement. Legs are held back for ecstasy to thoroughly explore feminine sensitivity. The desire to please takes over with every prompting licentious whisper. The softness of lips and tongue’s skillfulness coordinate with penetrative fingers . . . shudders ensue soon after. Well endowed hardness is mounted; kisses become more passionate with unbroken eye contact. Strong arms and hands on hips create a rhythm that causes trance like eroticism. Without breaking rhythm, she leans back to feel the true measure of him. The fullness of hard length and width causes deeper breathing. Thickness seduces her G – spot, inciting her to savor heights of euphoria before intense release. She is fully immersed in primal want. As she rides and sweats she rubs her breasts repeating words of sensual ecstasy in heavy breath. She must utilize every inch of his hardened flesh. He moans with passion, withstanding the desire to release in the throes of an aggressive fucking. He lets go of her hips, and she takes full control of her movements, slowing her rhythm and leaning in to intimately whisper to him. Her words are enticing, causing him to loudly release inside of her. She explodes silently in ecstasy lost in orgasmic seizure, releasing in screams and uncontrollable shaking right after.
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The eyes close, and the tears flow, and the winds blow, and the color of scarlet rapidly drips on snow, and words are spoken that no one will ever know. A diary heavy with immense sorrow is slowly let go, and the coldness reveals its bitterness as if trying to freeze the moment in the bosom of winter’s secrets. Winter blankets the remnants with snow’s heaviness encapsulating tears, sorrow, affliction, love, beauty, and written sentiments that are endless. Scarlet infuses it with its loudness interrupting the frozen white silence. Towering trees stripped of the leaves of their branches sway in strong winter winds as a solemn acknowledgement of what they witnessed. So heavy is the sorrow of life — the pain, the torment, the agony, the indifference. The winds become calm — snow gently falls on the beloved one who sleeps in the cradle of winter’s balm. Scarlet expands as far as it will go, soaking the pages that document the times and places of the depths of sorrow.
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Stillness settles; the weeping soul finds solace. Release comes; rivers of sorrow overflow, forming streams of emotions that only weeping angels know. The weary spirit finds rest in a place where hyacinth and lavender winds blow. Mysteries are revealed. The last loving whispers of infinite souls are unsealed. Aura is replenished in meditative essence. In a quiet room a powerful rebirth takes place with only the walls to bear witness. What is written is akin to divine poet laureates collaborating to diligently craft every sentence. In the stillness, the divine feminine begins again in beautiful nakedness. To truly love her, is to embrace her with a pure heart and dry her tears with a thousand passionate kisses.
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The comfort of a woman, affectionate, calming, and feminine is healing to the soul that is hurting. Sometimes tears run in the moment that release is found. To be in her embrace as the warmth of her hands caress one’s face is to know the unrestrained expressions of her love. To be in her presence and to share in the balm of her essence is to discover her angelic existence. Even the fragrance of her freshly conditioned hair brings a tranquility that leads to ecstasy. Her whispers are endless lines of sentimental poetry. The beautiful intricacy of her intimacy is a transcendent lesson in romantic history. Her very existence is the epitome of a divine mystery. Emotions of pure love overflow when she whispers, Kiss me.
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We wept with our mothers when our fathers left us. Comforting us, they held us tightly, tearfully whispering how much they loved us. We wept and slept, arising to the fact that all we had was us. Wiping the tears from her eyes, I said solemnly, Mom, please don’t cry. She would cook, stare and press her hair with rolling tears. Fuck the coward who caused us to go through the hard years. Fuck his life. Fuck his wife. Fuck his days and his nights. A rose for my mother and all others who suffered. I am strengthened in my pain and nights of endless rain. We didn’t necessarily want stepfathers. We wanted our mothers to find new love and to live again, in the love and security of faithful and honorable men. I will recite a loving poem and leave a beautiful rose for them.
