Enough with the monotonous fucking and the nights of unpleasurable penetration faking it just to please him. How many times have you fucked him and drove home angry that he couldn’t bring you to orgasm? You dress in lingerie to visually stimulate him, and usually he only lasts for five to ten minutes sweating with heavy grunting as if he accomplished something. He refuses to even attempt to give you oral stimulation, but that’s another thing. Yes, he’s handsome, but not well versed in the intricate intimacy and ecstasy of pleasing a woman. You’ve masturbated in front of him to show him the points of a woman’s stimulation, but he still hasn’t learned anything. There is zero foreplay; he just jumps in. “Baby, I’m not wet; I’m not ready yet” you tell him, yet still there is no slow and deep kissing, there is no looking into each other’s eyes with beautiful whisperings, there is no caressing, there is nothing that is remotely loving. He pulls out water based lubricant attempting to assert his delusions of sexual prowess in the bedroom and you constantly allow him. If you have to use something vibrating in tandem with your own fingers, then what’s the sense in being intimate with him? He has money and a great career — but about intimacy and loving reciprocity he doesn’t care. Several times you’ve thought about cheating, but if it’s come to that, you might as well be honest with him and leave him. Do you stay because of his socio-economic status and his high position? If you do, then it’s on you. Oh, by the way, he fucks other women unprotected that you don’t know about too; and in the company of his friends and fraternity brothers he disparages you. He sees the “relationship” as something transactional unbeknownst to you, so in his eyes how does he truly view you? Is the tradeoff worth it? Will he make you his “wife?” Will he finally start to treat you lovingly? Is it your ultimate aspiration to rub shoulders with high society? Will he confess truthful vows of love in the congregation of your friends and family?
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When she has an absolutely beautiful vagina, the desire to please her is so much deeper. When she is freshly shaven with the scent of perfumed soap out of the shower, the anticipation of the taste of her causes the mouth to water. When she slips into lingerie and clear mules in the bathroom and enters the bedroom displaying a pedicure with a new color, there is a strong desire to fan the flames of her fire. When her skin is glistening with wonderful moisture there is an undeniable want to passionately kiss her all over. When she uses Oscar De La Renta dusting powder and there is deep inhale of the euphoric scent of her, there will be no cessation of oral pleasure until she shudders. When she wraps her legs around the neck, moaning heavily and beginning to sweat — a skilled tongue will cause her to release orgasms over and over until there is nothing in her left. When her favorite vibrator is stimulating her clitoris and a yearning tongue is thoroughly teasing her ass, there is certainty that waves of ecstasy will take away her breath. When she decides to ride significant girth and length, nails will dig into chest as she controls the pleasure of her desired depths. When she is in missionary, her pedicured toes will be sucked, and she will be proficiently fucked immediately after her lover tells her to dexterously massage her own breasts.
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There is stillness in the underneath where they sleep, under the soil permeated by the tears of the living who wept and they who still weep. They who are no more were returned to earth’s keep, roses placed upon them lowered into the deep. The depth of love for the dead overflows when tears are shed in the winter and in the spring when roses arise from their slumber. Flowers are taken to the dead where the remnants of them lie; the heavens open and rain falls symbolizing the tears shed when the dead were once alive. They are forever marked upon the loved ones by whom they are survived. Under overcast skies the living kneel and whisper prayers with tears falling from solemn eyes. They eternally sleep, yet in loving hearts they repeatedly arise. In the depths of the souls of those that survive they who sleep repeatedly arise.
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Unconditional love is often sacrifices unseen, selflessness not necessarily noticed, and labor unrequited by well worded compliments. Unconditional love can be expressed with directness or subtly woven through many sentiments. Unconditional love can be words whispered in a last breath. Unconditional love is an ocean with infinite depth. Unconditional love is loyalty flawlessly maintained even after death.
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The stars of the night’s sky crown her — she is beautiful in her aura — oh, wonderful and majestic mother, the nurturer, the giver, the comforter — I kiss you with gratitude and bestow upon you the greatest honor. You are heaven’s daughter. The sacredness of your womb brings forth life from blessed darkness to blessed light. I know well the the intimacy of your soul and the depth of your plight. Your love is unwavering; for the hungry, for the rejected, for the motherless, and for the unloved you are a haven. The afflicted cry out to heaven and you are sent to them. Your hands bring forth beautiful creations. You are the forebearer of future powerful nations. You are a woman immersed in the vastness of what is intelligent, strong, loving and feminine. Your most potent medicine is affection. In your embrace there is an angelic protection.
As your own, you have accepted many motherless daughters and sons. You dispel trauma when tears run. You yourself have wept and have not slept, yet you still flawlessly and without the expectation of reciprocity give of yourself. There is a glow upon you that transcends the beauty of everything else. You are otherworldly beautiful. If no one else has told you, know that someone somewhere truly loves you. Eyes of adoration fall upon you. Beautiful mother, the loving sentiments that are written about you are eternal.
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I remember romantic nights drifting into early mornings at Café Intermezzo. I remember us enjoying New York Cheesecake with excellent cappuccino. I remember the intimate setting that led to profound conversation and amorous kissing. I remember your voice, soft spoken, telling me the depths of your heart and me intently listening. I remember how beautiful you looked, every detail of what you were wearing. I remember your peep toe heels, your backless white dress, the sweetness of your breath, your curled hair, your Chanel earrings and people smiling and staring. I remember the wonderful scent of your perfume as we were embracing.
I remember holding you in my arms and my heart racing. I remember us vibing to the soothing rhythms of Spanish guitar strings. I remember moving my chair adjacent to yours and the inundation of deep feelings. I remember the rapture of our collective emotions. I remember more kissing and the loving words of intimate whisperings. I remember the transcendence of our communication. I remember us feeding each other at our little table — the candle next to flowers on top of white tablecloth flickering. I remember kissing your hand and asking you to be my woman. I remember the passion in your eyes and the absolute beauty of your countenance under the full moon’s illumination. I remember us not waiting to drive back to your location for lovemaking. I remember the way it pleased me to give you pleasure hearing your moaning. I remember passionate riding and the words you were saying. I remember your loud release after eye contact and heavy breathing.
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Intricate embroidery encapsulates a beautiful aspect of absolute intimate intricate femininity.
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Whatever you may be going through, take comfort in knowing that someone truly loves you. And if you do not believe so, whisper your sorrows to the angels when you are tearful, reflecting on the precious memories that you hold onto. And in your reflection find the diamond that you might have first missed — an initial experience of kindness, an embrace in loving arms, a first kiss. It may not be bliss, but it might be enough to hold you over until the darkness is vanquished by light. With falling tears, mount up for warfare and fight. You do not fight alone, for we are kindred spirits derived from the aura of ancient warrior kings and queens who ruled well and sat on golden thrones. In each other we will always have a home. Dark rain falls on our illuminated halos. Our twin flames conjoin creating a barrier that torment and sorrow cannot follow. We are as peaceful as gentle winds rustling the leaves of willow trees in late spring over hidden streams. Even though tears stream, in love and hope we are redeemed.
Intimate Compositions 