Black waterfalls flow over white silk pillows.
Through sweet honey you speak to me.
Without heels you stand at 5’4″ naturally.
Glistening rivers in mid spring are your skin;
Your eyes are a revelation of the heavens.
The contour of you neck is beautiful and feminine.
Your silhouette takes away my breath;
On that night, we became one under the light of the stars …
From the crown of your head to the soles of your feet you are adored.
Let us lie together so I can eagerly whisper, mi amor.
Words can’t be spoken of deep love and sincere emotions.
The flow of your sensuality is like the movement of the oceans.
You are my comfort; you are my warmth.
Without your presence and your essence I am lost.
Sing me a beautiful song, and let me rest my head
In the ataraxia of your arms.
The softness of your skin is akin to endless rose pedals;
Your scent, white gardenias in early summer.
In our lives we have both suffered
But have now found healing in each other.
I have had many lovers, but you are like no other;
Your understanding of my character is a natural wonder;
The way you read me is certainly uncanny.
Through loving brown eyes is how you see me.
Tag: Feelings
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She finally found herself after the turmoil and the tears,
Though the process of her healing would take several years.
Her heart was delicate, but the people she trusted the most never protected it.
In fact, they were the ones who tried to break her spirit.
A stark lesson in the realization that the ones you love, don’t always love you.
The lowest point in her story was when she recognized that it was true.
The heartbreak she must have felt places the reader directly in her shoes;
Seeing the coldness of the world through her eyes and those sleepless
Nights she wailed and cried, is enough to make the reader cry;
Even more so, is the fact that she was abandoned
Even though they knew that on that faithful night she could have died.
Her triumph in the late chapters served to be an emotional roller coaster.
I have a feeling this is just the beginning, and her story is far from over. -
With an affectionate touch and passionate kiss
The subtleties in-between finally rose to the surface,
Revealing true feelings of love in glorious bliss. -
Still the sadness comes and the tears run,
But with every battle we learn to overcome;
We are tired but we will endure.
The threshold of our pain is extended
At that moment when we think we can’t take anymore.
Daily we go to war with our shields and swords;
The resolve in our eyes causes the earth to stir and the eagles to cry;
Our tears saturate the soil and our lament pierces the sky.
One day we will be transformed and dwell in light.
We are the stars that shine and beautify the night;
We are the sun in the foreground that gives the moon its light;
We are those subtly beautiful moments;
We are the feelings of euphoria felt;
We are a beautiful song that makes the heart melt;
In our dreams we walk through peaceful fields . . .
We are the fireflies at night that magically light up redwood trees.
We are the essence of the summertime, when sunshine
Highlights the vast array and the many beautiful patterns of butterflies;
We are eagles feeling heavenly winds under our wings
Soaring in the magical realm of vast skies;
We are walking diamonds formed from the pressure of our pain
And the fire in our eyes. -
Is there redemption to be found in suffering?
Is there nobility in enduring incessant pain?
Can darkened eyes see blue skies through constant rain?
Are we not mortals set in our ways?
Do we not dread the end of days?
Do we not work our fingers to the bone
And apply for loans with interest to be repaid?
In the totality of our lives as the ninety nine percent, are we not slaves?
Do we not have dreams that are unseen?
Do we not weep for ourselves in the four walls we dwell?
Are babies not born into a polluted world of living hell?
Do we not live on the edge risking our lives to feel alive?
Do we not indulge in vices to escape our own minds?
Do we not self medicate because conventional therapy offers no escape?
Have we not prayed and prayed to see nothing change?
Do we not try to hide our pain from the eyes of our children?
Is there a magical pill to a new beginning?
Are we condemned to a fiery lake for our constant sinning?
Do we not hold back tears when in the company of our unknowing peers?
Have we not battled and battled the torment of irrational fears?
When it is late and we remain awake, do we not contemplate our fate?
Do we sometimes not break from the heaviness of the weight?
Do we not constantly mentally write and rewrite our own eulogies?
In each other do we not find beauty?
Do we not remember first kisses in the sunshine of the summertime?
When I see her, do I not see an angel in my mind?
Through the storm will I fall in the field or will I survive?
Does the vengeance in my blood manifest in my son’s eyes?
In our listlessness do we still look to the skies?
In my plight am I misunderstood?
Do I hold back my love or give one hundred percent as I should?
In the loves I have lost, would I change the outcome if I could?
If I had the power would I resurrect my mother?
Do my weaknesses reflect the genetics of my father?
In my pursuance of success, should I even bother?
Is the world rife with decadence and are the years becoming stranger?
Have I become a recluse with unjustified anger?
From the beautiful sentiments I relayed, does she not remember?
In the affects of my childhood do I continue to suffer?
If it doesn’t kill you does it really make you stronger?
Can the moments of peace be made to last longer?
Can two or three small yellow pills cure chronic insomnia?
What qualities in particular make a good lover?
Did the chicken come before the egg, or is it the other?
Should I have stayed, or should I have left her?
Am I both a victim and a survivor?
Do I protect the appearance of vulnerability with a gruff exterior?
Do I approach the advent of adversity in a rational manner?
Are people with cogent minds better orators?
Is marriage better than being a perpetual lover?
Was it the allure of the exterior, or did I really love her?
Did I say something regrettable in my anger?
Are the questions pertinent? . . . I wonder. -
And now that the hour is upon us, let us love each other once more
With the purest of hearts and the sincerest of kisses.
In the blinking of an eye, let us rekindle what we thought we had lost
And recapture the letters of love and all the misses.
We had lost each other in the wind, but now in these precious moments
We begin again and find the sacred intimacy of our origin.
In the calm before the storm, let us hold each other once more
And find our secret place of warmth on the wings of the archangels,
Touching all the worlds and guiding us through the light of heaven’s door.
I will love you and cherish you my angel, now and forevermore. -
In purgatory we are suspended.
Anguished screams are the byproduct
When the spirit is wilted.
Epitaphs are written and rewritten
With each changing season.
The anxious and depressed are listless;
There is no room for anything else.
Constant torment of the soul causes scarring.
She is beautiful on the outside,
But on in the inside she’s dying.
When the dead are gone they leave behind the living,
But the living are not living.
In the darkness cries are heard,
And the stark truth of finality is contemplated.
Day after day agony is compounded,
And there is no room to breathe;
We flood ourselves in the tears of heavy weeping,
But there is no reprieve.
With laborious breaths we make an existence;
The delicate shell of us craving a life of substance.
Once filled with life, we drag the carcass
Of yesteryear behind us, hoping for a resurrection,
Or some type of rejuvenation to bring life back into our eyes.
The preacher preaches a fiery sermon
And tells us to look to the skies,
But we have prayed and prayed again, and we are tired.
The world turns its face from the frightful imagery of our reality;
We are mannequins they dress up and pretend not to see;
Still, we are flowers in winter
Waiting for spring to bloom in all our glory.
In giant books of gold bound with the blood of our pain,
The gods, they record our lives, and write our story. -
The residue of you lingers.
I am infused with passionate thoughts;
I must purge myself, but sensuality taunts.
I taste of you, and your flavor is euphoric.
To let go I must convince my heart.
The strong potency of memories
Must be diluted with current reality
Lest there be an overload in sensory.
The recipe:
1 part memory to 7 parts reality.It must be savored and consumed slowly,
For the sweetness can mask its cogency;
Still I am inebriated from overconsumption,
As I secretly indulge with endless craving,
Like some starving predacious being.
Unknowingly I am in your rapture;
Sensuous and loving thoughts haunt me sweetly.
On a clear night I dreamt of the story of Adonis and Aphrodite.
The fire left center of my chest refuses to be quenched;
From past memories I piece together my own collage of what’s left.
On amatory nights with dim lights against my neck I feel your breath. -
Torment and agony are the portion of the afflicted.
Behind the eyes is where it lives.
A smile can be deceiving, for even in the warmth
Of good company she is naked in cold winter winds.
Words sometimes cannot be used to express true feelings.
In whispered utter these are the only words she could muster:
If I may seem distant my love, know that it is not you.
When asked how she was, she said,
I’m fine, knowing it was not true.
Ideations of not being here cause her to rush to another room
To weep, wash her face and hide the tears.
Are friends really friends when the burden can’t be shared?
She is loving and considerate, and their feelings she would spare.
But it is when feelings are held in that the wounds are deeper,
And the tears, and the agony, and the wailing.
Even if heaven knows her cries, still, inside she dies …
Unknowingly they take of her, and take of her again.
In their euphoria the essence of her they freely spend.
Beneath the surface she craves light and healing;
In her breath, her preciousness, her torment, her pain
Her aspirations, and the agony of her life are so revealing.
With wondrous eyes she is beautiful and sparkling,
But Look past her countenance and deep into her soul to see her suffering.
Her childhood you would witness; the pain of abuse;
The hell of silent agony and constant misuse.
As I stare into her eyes she nods and greets me with a smile;
In knowing the essence of her, I embrace her, gently kiss her, and cry. -
You long oppressed; You anxious and stressed: You night walkers with glowing eyes; You precious children whose eyes have cried; You whom dwell within the corners of dark rooms misunderstood and in agony; You who have endured but hope for more; You who are listless and constantly contemplate death; You mothers who are postpartum depressed, who’s eyes cry and can’t sleep but are tired, looking into your baby’s eyes; You whom dwell on the ledge pondering the finality of a razor’s edge; You who sleep all day but wake up even more tired; You who are chronic insomniacs with eyes wired; You who seek resurrection with protruding veins and euphoric injection; The melancholic of you; You sufferers who daily drink of that bitter cup; You depressed fathers who can’t look into your children’s eyes without the shedding of tears; You who have prayed, and prayed again, with the sounds of wailing at 4 A.M. You who are reviled even by the ones who claim to love you, as they say hurtful words again and again; The distressed of you; The ones who ruminate in tormented state; You who live in hell; The poor of you who are ill but find a way still; You grandmothers who raise the children of your deceased daughters; You who are not of my flesh but are are still my brothers and sisters; You who have fought for years; You who are reading this with tears; I love you.
Intimate Compositions 