We dance intimately in a grand ballroom, just you and I;
you kiss me, and I am yours completely.
You stun in a formal white dress, chandelier earrings, and a diamond necklace.
Strappy heels add to your appeal, and I am immersed in your rapture;
I spin you around as we dance if beautiful synchrony.
Tonight, whisper your heart’s sincerity — and capture the depths of me.
Reveal secrets to me, and know in your heart that you can trust my confidentiality.
Again, kiss me deeply, and know that I love you with everything that I have in me.
As we dance slowly, let me be lost in the comfort of your femininity.
Seductive utterances are not enough; hold onto the essence of my being,
and know that I could never live without you.
Another spin, and from behind is how I hold you—
With loving arms around you, we rock from side to side in sweet caress.
You place your hands on top of mine, and what I feel…
What I feel in this very moment, I can’t describe.
Right here and right now, I dance with a goddess in my eyes;
You tilt your head back, and your hair becomes a gloriously flowing waterfall;
I love you; you move me deeply — without saying anything at all.
-
-
Janet Jackson – Someday Is Tonight
-
She explores her body thoroughly, rediscovering the parts of her that were once receptive to pleasure but now lie dormant. She craves soft kisses on her neck. She craves intimacy. In her desire, she has found a renewed sensuality; she closes her eyes, touching herself slowly. Time is of no consequence; the primal arousal of her body is awakened gradually. Her heavy breathing is a direct reaction to her erotic memories; thinking about him in her fantasy, she whispers his name sensually, inadvertently. In her new found arousal there is wonder and beauty. Somewhere in her psyche, there is an underlying erotic subtleness that teases her body. She whispers his name again — this time intentionally. She feels him. She feels him deeply. She surrenders herself to pleasure totally and is immersed in femininity. She screams. She screams loudly.
-
Erotic reflexes drive pleasure to the edge, allowing the sensual essence to flow uninhibited. Long held thoughts are revealed in lascivious whispers, heightening the senses — leading to waves of unexpected releases; the longing of temptation is vigorously fulfilled, and the desires of the heart overflow and spill. Predilection takes over and is passionately pursued with prurient wanting; pleasure is found in both giving and receiving. Concupiscent utterances and primal screaming is not deceiving — erogenous zones cannot lie. Before more euphoric waves arrive, there are amatory whispers and a locking of the eyes. In those moments, the reticent disguise is uncovered and forever set aside; unlimited pleasure demands its subjects to fall away from foolish pride. In the giving of themselves, the dead parts of their repressed want come alive. Memories of alluring positions and seductive temptations linger in the blue fire of the mind. Intimate scenarios are replayed again and again over time. Impatiently, naughty fingers touch all the points of pleasure they can find, until next time.
-
They couldn’t see the beauty in you,
but you are beautiful.
They couldn’t sense the strength in you,
but you have overcome.
They couldn’t see the light in you,
but you shine like the sun.
They couldn’t reach the depths of you,
because their souls are shallow.
They could never love you,
because their hearts are hollow. -
Anguished screams narrate the bowels of hell in all its depths.
Perpetual falling of dark rain washes away the blood after the opening of veins.
Lost in desolation, if they escape death, when they come back — they are never the same.
The bloodstream craves euphoria to numb unceasing pain,
but after the sun rises, sorrow still remains.
They fall to their knees and weep in sincere praying, but sorrow still remains.
Please take away the pain. They cry earnestly, please take away the pain.
But there is no change — they wail before the sun rises, but there is no change.
They want the world to know their names.
They so desperately want the world to know their names;
and feel the warmth of the sun again.
They want to feel the embrace of the warmth of the sun again.
Agony seems to never end.
The torment seems to never end. -
She is intertwined in every fiber of his being;
He hears her name whispered in the wind,
and her aura permeates in the in-between.
Their levels of intimacy are ethereal and unseen.
On the night they wept together — they became one,
a true marriage without vain symbols valued in the cost of a rings.
It was the coming together of two divine beings;
A true union, where upon the chambers of the heart, vows are written.
Where the promises of words in truth are spoken;
Where the fire of sensuality remains and attraction never wanes.
The fire of their love will never change,
Even when the hair turns grey in old age;
Even when the last breaths are taken,
they will find each other when they cross over
and are again awakened in the halls of their fathers.
Eternally together. Eternal lovers. -
Listlessly they lie, like inanimate objects
unmoved as the dust collects.Insomniac eyes could never hide the dark circles
of suffering from lack of rest.After the last deep inhale,
there are no more remnants of euphoria left.When there is a stagnant silence after heavy breaths,
there is no more ecstasy left.It can be bought, but agony stalks
after it wears off.The scars of its heavy price can sometimes be seen
between the webs of the toes and on angular arms. -
Shirley Horn – Summer (Estaté)
-
There must be no safe space for them;
they must not be allowed to strike again.
They must be burned in the fire of the pain of their victims,
and have their ashes taken away by the wind.
History must only mention them in the context of, Never Again.
They must be condemned, and the womb they were conceived in.
They must be forced from their secret places in the darkness of the early morning,
and be left as sustenance for ravens, before the appearance of the red sky of the evening.
They must experience one thousand times fold, the torment of their victims;
left to contemplate their fate, shaken, by the sounds of their own breathing.
They will not be mourned in their leaving;
no beautiful floral arrangements;
no carriages with black horses, with blinders waiting;
no tears of elderly women, with silk gloves in black veils grieving.
In their final moments, the terror of their destruction will be upon them.
