The depths of me are strewn over the ruin of my heart’s desire. To think that I could have love within my grasp yet see it fall into eternal fire. The soul within me is shattered glass, wounding me deeply in many hidden places unmercifully. The very marrow of my being cries out for an oasis of love, but still, love shuns me like a leper walking slowly into a vast city. Perhaps I held on too tightly to the thing that I wanted mostly. In my desolation there is no feminine touch or sweet words to comfort me. My tears fall on the remnants of brokenness. I am hungry and thirsty in a harsh wilderness. Oh, what I would give for one last kiss. I have become a wonderer stumbling in darkness; trying to find my way back to unconditional love in its pureness. The secret diaries of my heart want to remain hidden, but tears force me to write this. In a cold, dark, and desolate place I am my own witness. There is no substitute for a woman’s love. I tried to hide within my own heart, but my own heart calls out for her every time the depths of me are uttered. I try to bury memories daily with sad songs and intricately spoken eulogies — but memories refuse to die and go silently. I had hoped for a new resurrection within me, but her face is all I can see. Her face is all I can see. Haunt me, my love; haunt me, is what my soul screams loudly. Is there no reprieve for the unloved and the exhausted? Sleep does not come easily, if at all. I have had the carnal affections of many women, but it is the the whispers of only one that so moved me. Without even a touch, she captured me in totality. Her hair is like a black river flowing endlessly; her eyes are a wondrous mystery; her lips are the softness and sweetness of honey. I stretch my hands forth, hoping that I can capture a sliver of her aura. She is as beautiful as the joyous singing of archangels. Haunt me, my love. Haunt me. Let your love fall upon me and baptize me in the depths of your soul. The pain in my eyes do not lie. Passersby may stare at me with curiosity as I openly cry. Let them stare and draw near to the sound of my voice so they can hear the novel of the desolate and unloved. I desire a new resurrection secretly — but her face is indelible upon me. I am a leaf in the fall carried by the wind hoping to land on the peaceful river of a woman’s heart. I have sojourned in cold darkness for so long; for so long. Oh, to hear the voice of a woman singing a beautiful song. I was once a baby in the safety of my mother’s womb, carried for many months until delivery, and then I became a man only to see love leave me. I call on heaven to safely deliver me again, but this time from the clutches of torment and misery. The dark womb of the unloved is so cold and lonely. The dark womb of the forsaken is unforgiving and filled with misery.
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Though they lie in stagnant stillness with closed eyes, still, somehow they fly with wings of the inseparable love that they left behind. Indeed, they are buried roses, returned to their origins as seeds, gloriously resprouting anew in the life after — basking in eternally perfect weather, caressed by celestial breezes, where they again hug their lost long mothers and previously downtrodden fathers who transformed into heavenly beings — where there are no tears, or the terror of hopelessness and irrational fears; but where there is indescribable love and a peace that could neve be explained to mortal ears. They are lovers who loved each other deeply without fear. They are immensely loved. They are there.
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Prince – The Beautiful Ones
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Slowly, I inhale her and exhale with a transcendent euphoria. Around me, things fall apart. Days of yesteryear weigh heavily on the frayed threads of my psyche. Slivers of solace are found in every intense release. My mouth waters to please her; the essence of her on my tongue is something that I’ll always remember. A woman fully steeped in her femininity is a polished diamond in exquisite rarity. Her moans of pleasure are the sounds of a wonderful orchestra performing on the bank of a wondrously flowing river. Her kisses quiet the grumbling of my lament. Her breasts envelope me, and I am lost in the depths of sensuality. She rides me. She fucks me — and it takes away the pain. Her unbridled sexuality is my therapy. She switches to reverse cowgirl and looks back at me. Deep pain and eroticism come together and form a beautiful intensity unexplained. Passion heightens; tears stream as sorrow is drawn out of me. Again, positions are switched, and she wraps her legs around me in missionary. Without breaking eye contact, we kiss passionately as she wipes the tears from my eyes. I must give her all that is me — I cannot lie. Eroticism and sorrow are strange bedfellows. I turn her around; she moans with ecstasy. Her face supported by soft white pillows. Again, she looks back at me. Again, I take another dose of her potent therapy. Every euphoric breath that she breathes is my reprieve. Gloss pink peeps through the holes of black heels. I kiss the side of her neck wildly and breathe in the scent of light sprays of Channel N° 5. I exhale the pain with rolling tears and closed eyes. We release together, finding the climax of our pleasure, and I am truly alive. We release together, on our sides; her head turned towards me and her leg draped over mine.
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I take an inventory of myself, and I retrace the steps I made on the day you left. Still, my heart beats for you.
But someone else takes away your breath—
Diligently, I search the vast emotions of my depths to find memories of you smiling in your favorite sundress.
But someone else takes away your breath—
I whisper vows to the mighty archangels, telling them of my contriteness; my tears falling on heaven’s steps until there are no tears left.
But someone else takes away your breath—
I ponder theories of love and reunification after death, lying silently in bed with my hands over the place within me that you are secretly kept.
But someone else takes away your breath—
Tears drop on pictures of you as I reach for but a sliver of your aura with my arms outstretched.
But someone else takes away your breath—
With every loving touch and passionate kiss I received from you, parts of your heart, I secretly kept. Your love is in me forever, fused to the foundations of my deepest depths.
But someone else takes way your breath—
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Maxi Priest – Close to You
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The purity of transcendent intimacy;
The expressions of true love that heal the brokenhearted
and flow flawlessly;The pleasure of intense sensuality;
The oneness of a woman and a man who
are dedicated to one another completely;The adoration of the delicate nature of a woman
in the beauty of her femininity;The wondrous protective strength of a man
who holds his woman tightly.Their love is like the revelation of
a long pondered mystery;A display of rendered emotions born
of many beautiful intricacies. -
Inanimate objects keep the secrets of the erotically anonymous. Oh, if only walls could talk and tell of heavy breaths of lust and euphoric screams from every thrust; or the arms that brace against them when wetness drips in white satin; or the girth that teasingly rubs against a pulsating clit before it slowly slides in, causing an intense orgasm from euphoric anticipation and adrenaline; or the shaking legs that are widely spread, supported by red open toe stilettos that display glossy red gel nail polish on sexy toes. Fucking will commence, but only the two participants and inanimate objects will know. Makeup is smeared against white walls, leaving behind the only sign that she used her face to brace herself as she brought herself to orgasm by rhythmically rubbing her clit as she was fucked hard from behind.
Oh, if walls could talk and tell of the exquisiteness of ecstasy right before and after a lustful voice whispers, Cum for me. The walls feel the reverberation of her release, but they keep their silence. They never speak. Forever silent, they will never speak. Red heels make sounds that echo from walls because of shaking legs and the hardness underneath, but imamate objects hold secrets that they will never speak.
Intimate Compositions 