The way he feels about her is like a beautiful song unheard;
the intricacies of its melodies held back by secret whispers
that the heart wants to declare loudly and succinctly.
He carries the heavy weight in his heart—
still somehow apprehensive to unburden himself,
so his soul will burn in blue fire until he vocalizes his desire;
In his dreams he holds her in intimate passion,
her hair flowing over his arms, as she whispers
beautiful words and smiles at him.
He must speak now or forever hold his peace,
lest he touch the depths of hell of uncertainty
for an eternity in disbelief.
Tag: Creative Writing
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She freed herself, letting her soul take flight;
Uninhibitedly, she danced,
Moving gracefully in the twilight. -
In light we are reborn, equipped with a crown and sword.
The banners that we wave — passionately worn.
We go out in the night and conquer the storm;
Our scepters laid upon our thrones,
Waiting to be held in mighty hands which rings adorn.
Enemies seek to slay us, and make us the no more;
But their hearts fail them and decimate their resolve.
Their blood soaks the bottom edges of the king’s robe,
over armor that drags on the vast halls of white marble floors.
Once we were reviled and scorned,
But now we are venerated and adored. -
In intense release, sensual sounds move through walls,
and the body is taken over by pleasure, in waves of euphoric shudders.
In those enraptured moments, nothing else matters;
Intimate words are uttered in whispers, and eager lips find each other.
Dedicated tongues induce uncontrollable screams;
The control of steady rhythms flow like violet rivers,
Under a bright crystal sun in lucid dreams.
It is more than just a frenzied session;
It is the building of refined ecstasy in slow progression.
After several positions, there are four words whispered before explosion.
Silence falls — and the mind records from the tryst what it wants;
In the immediate after, the sensual rapture is vividly recalled. -
The feral sun shines on pixie dust
that glitters in-between purple raindrops that fall on us.
In our mother’s womb we all lived in darkness once,
then breathed in light—
but the other darkness came and swallowed some of us
in a long goodnight.They were shiny and unbreakable like metal once—
but then sat listlessly and began to rust.
Oh heaven what will become of us,
if we are unloved with no one to trust?The other darkness, it stalks—
and to mercilessly consume is what it wants.
In twilight glare, wide eyes they stare
to drown the darkness in the moonlight’s tears.
In winter winds on a full moon night,
diamond tears are shed to reflect the light. -
Use my heart as a blank canvas
and let love guide your hands
to paint beautiful pictures.
After you finish, write your name
indelibly on me, so the world
will know that I am yours.
I am not a perfect canvas,
for I am flawed,
yet your loving brushes
have already filled me
with gorgeous backdrops
and vibrant colors;
You take your time,
and everyday, you paint a little more
in passionate patience.
Your devotion is something to behold;
There is beauty in the strokes
of your wrists alone.
After you exhibit me, take me home;
Hold me close to you,
and make me your own.
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The compositions of my life are arranged in three passionate movements.
The orchestra plays beautifully; the lead violinist weeps with tears,
Falling on the varnished wood and the strings of his instrument.
After the performance, in stillness the crowd sits,
And after a long pause, they stand and clap to break their silence.
Heaven’s Poet Laureate writes sonnets that tell of agony, love, and death;
And of how he turned his face and wept when she took her last breath.
It was three words she spoke before she left,
And a child went home and stood in the room where she slept,
To catch her aura, and to take a part of her to place in his heart,
Where until this day it is protected and kept.
The orchestra plays again; the first movement — a sonata.
At the end, the lead violinist bows with tears
And blows a kiss as he remembers her. -
She dances to expel the pain,
her fingers moving in motion
through the air delicately.
Though her heart aches, she will not break;
There is a wondrous beauty
in her fragility.
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In euphoric tones I hear you speak to me;
In intimate whispers you let go,
And reveal your long hidden intricacies.
In your loud passionate release,
You cannot lie.
Your intensity immerses me in the depths of you.
I bathe in the sounds of your ecstasy.
I Listen intently, to capture the rare pieces of you;
My souls screams.You intrigue me in mystery.
I adore you in wonderful simplicity;
Like when your hair is pulled up as you lather yourself gracefully,
Or how your blue silk robe seductively moves against your body.
In my love for you, I give you all that is within me.
The scent of your perfume is floral and heavenly.
To capture your essence, I kiss you,
And hold onto you tightly. -
2 AM eyes look up and down the block; only the fire from a glass pipe can be seen. After the last inhale, the blue flame disappears like magic. Like vampires they retreat into pitch darkness. High rise buildings tower over women of the night with torn stockings. The bitter cold outside combined with strong cigarette smoke, causes redness of the eyes. An old man drinks a bottle of beer, and in-between his raspy lament he cries. The 2 train stops and continues on its way to 149th street. The homeless seek warmth in building hallways so they can sleep. Children of the night in crowded bedrooms from tiny eyes peep. Snow starts to fall and covers all like a white shawl. Heroin addicts inject black tar that would make the devil crawl. Empty buses roll down White Plains road with lights off in ghostlike form. A hole–in–the–wall bar offers a strange silence with unfriendly faces that are listless. The darkness stalks from under the subway overpass; the sound of old train tracks are haunting. Snow keeps falling.
Large rats move in the shadows undeterred and stake their claim. A woman talks to herself loudly, because she is in pain. The wind that blows on the train platforms chills the bones; it is cold. Tired eyes cast off the thousand yard star. Eyes gaze at the lights of an approaching train and are caught in the glare. The gritty winters are harsh, and even the poor find a way to have at least one decent coat to wear. The snow that falls over the Bronx River with bordering trees, makes it look like a winter wonderland. A white pigeon sits atop of an old Lower Manhattan street light. Lady Liberty stands still over New York Harbor with a torch in her hand.
Intimate Compositions 