Love me. Love me deeply. Love me without hesitancy. Love me with the full understanding of who I am, not who you might want me to be. Love me madly. Love me with faithfulness that is seldom seen. Love me like purple hues and bright blue stars over magical redwood trees in a midnight dream. Love me with the same fervor in public and places unseen. Love me in the full radiance of yellow, violet, and burgundy flowers that reach for the heavens, bursting forth with new life under sunshine in spring. Love me in the presence of willows that weep and whisper sentimentally over peaceful streams, giving shade to butterflies who dream. Love me indescribably. Love me defiantly. Love me loudly. Love me silently. Love me thoroughly. Love even the whispers the winds carry when the precious ones of the world speak of me. Love me intentionally. Love me when the world is against me. Love me in the throes of my trauma and my anxiety. Love me with a fiery sensuality. Love me with unbreakable loyalty. Love me eternally.
Tag: Feelings
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He owed them nothing, but he indulged them to see if there was any understanding among them. They ridiculed his many afflictions as fiction. They reviled him for telling the absolute truth about the state of his condition. He explained to them thoroughly his misery. Again and again, he reiterated the agony of his story. He realized that they were cowardly when they mockingly replied, “Yeah, me too,” but then they fell silent in fearful trembling when he said poignantly, “the things that I have been through would have already killed you.”
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I dreamt in-depth of her depths, her breasts, the sweet and sensuous words of her breath, the intimacy of me and the response of her flesh, my love embracing her in exquisite caress, kissing her passionately with tears of joy as she dreamed in midnight rest. It was in black silk that she was dressed, covering skin so soft that she felt like ethereal satin that was everlasting. I was overwhelmed with unbridled passion, uttering words of love that flowed from me transcendentally. In that moment, she became my wife and my life. I awoke at half past midnight.
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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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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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She is nourished by sunshine and rainwater, like fields of lavender flowers rooted in the rich soil of celestial valleys, graced with the calming sounds of peaceful glistening rivers. She spreads her wings and glides over all that she’s dreamt of. The serenity of her soul is the most beautiful and ancient wonder. The celestial bodies crown her. The intonations of her voice are like refreshing flowing streams in early summer. Her gaze is like the aurora borealis in winter. Her whispers are like breathtaking portraits painted by a master. The colors of her soul are hues of blue, purple and lavender. Astonished minds contemplate the most descriptive words that closely describe the ethereal beauty of her.
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So many tears fall from their eyes. With no wings to fly, they keep falling from the skies. The silent walls witnessed their last cries.
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Fantasies are immersed in an exploration of eroticism. The tongue is a multipurpose tool of seduction; to whisper, to lick her, to suck, to tongue fuck. Wet dreams are when she is wet and daydreaming about being tied up and fucked. She wants the full length and width of a well endowed man in her mouth. She wants to ride his tongue. She wants her ass to be spanked and her hair to be aggressively pulled so she can cum. She even bought handcuffs to restrain her left hand to her bedpost to increase the intensity of her self pleasure. She breathes deeply and shudders when she first stimulates her pussy externally, then she screams, finishing her session with a G-Spot dildo internally. The evidence of erotic pleasure is the wet spot on her comforter and the beads of perspiration on her body. She’ll bathe or shower and be horny again in another hour. Inside her is a never-ending passionate fire. To be tied up and roughly fucked by an experienced well endowed man is her desire.
Intimate Compositions 