Love is accommodating. Love is not rigid in its nature — its elasticity stretches to the limit and still holds everything together. Forgiveness is Love’s greatest gift. Love bestows grace and is gracefully beautiful. Love’s deepest depths may require sacrifice without acknowledgement, thankfulness or reciprocation from its receiver. Love’s essence is manifested in true believers. Love is steadfast in excellent health and more-so in illness near death. Love is not sex, but through intimate sexual expressions Love can be made manifest. Love is eternal. Sometimes, it can be viewed as senseless and irrational. By nature, Love is transcendent with many intricate layers in beautiful colors. Love may require you to stand against opposing sentiment without even an inch of relent. Love is a precious gift heaven sent. Even in the face of death, Love will provide you unfathomable strength. Love is often proclaimed with ultra sincerity in last breaths. Love is spiritual. Love is ethereal. Love touches and heals many people. In Love’s embrace one can can vulnerable. Love is gorgeous. Love is beautifully intimate. Love is sought by those who betrayed the attributes of it in their last moments. Love is a child that causes exceedingly great pain to his mother in labor but after, she cries joyous tears as he is in the embrace of his protector with whom he will share a bond forever. Love is an emotional cord braided with another that could never be severed. Love is sincere and passionate in its endeavors. Love, are the words left with me by my mother before I lost her.
Tag: Intimacy
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Perpetual dark rain masks the tears of my unending pain; there is no distinction when tears fall in a storm. Incessant sorrow is the numbness of my soul. I used to crave warmth, but I have adapted to bitter cold. I am shattered over and over again; the dams of my eyes fill with the tears of my heart. I am silent and still in my weeping before the bellowing of my anguish starts. I seek understanding no more, nor do I reach for love in its purest form. Life will be what it will be. I am a castaway, shipwrecked on unmerciful seas. I did not know that I was so deeply wounded until I saw my own blood on the leaves. The tightness of the chest and shortness of breath feels like slow imminent death. There is no fucking redemption in constant torment. If hell is my portion then in hell I will walk. I do not give a fuck about societal norms or their prejudice thoughts. The decadence of their sentiments have bloated them — they are greedy pigs with foul breath at the trough. The weight of their iniquities have crush their knees; on their bellies they crawl. Still, in unending storms tears fall. To protect myself from further pain, around my heart I build an impenetrable wall. In the dystopia of my soul I am stranded, left desolate. The beauty of past intimacy seems like a lifetime away. After early morning sensuality, from work, she would call to tell me that she was still throbbing, further inciting my intimate passion. Regretfully, I never showed her the sorrowful depths of me, afraid to show the vastness of my pain. Sorrow is now synonymous with my name — my unseen tears washed away by dark eternal rain.
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Before she fucks him, she always takes of her wedding rings. She says she sincerely loves her husband, but his dysfunction does not allow him to satisfy her constant craving. Often in uncontrollable amorous throbbing, she touches herself, and she uses many different toys of her choosing; but her desire is for the sensuous feeling of the real thing. With her lover, at first, per agreement, there was just primal fucking, not intimate kissing — but as time went on, rules were broken, and her husband, she divorced him; and her lover, she fell in love with him. But her lover, he was not faithful to her, for her lover had wives, mothers and others. Some were for pleasure, some were for the money of his hire. Often after the quenching of her lustful hunger, she thinks about the husband who unconditionally loved her when she is in the shower. She misses her husband’s loving whispers and sincerely affectionate kisses. She misses the way she was held. She cries, because he rescued her from emotionally hell, took care of her wonderfully and treated her so well. But he could not satisfy her sexually — he could not bring her to ecstasy; he could not quench the fire within her. The bareness of her ring finger signifies the story of tragedy, and even after ecstasy, still, she is unhappy.
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Sweet grapes of your vineyard are excitedly crushed. Your wine flows effortlessly fermented in ecstasy — the taste of you intoxicates me as I drink more and more from your sensuous cup.
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The darkness offers an indescribable solace. The smoothness of her skin is the epitome of the magnificence of a woman’s softness. Soft light gently illuminates the feminine beauty and sensuousness that so many envy. They lust after her curvature but foolishly step over her true power as a natural nurturer; they could never be profound and loving enough to dig deeper to find the diamonds hidden within her. Indeed, she is a beautiful wonder yet to be discovered. She is alone with her thoughts. The contemplation of her is like a revered book constantly read, re-read and referenced by the most distinguished scholars. To kiss her is heavenly — to possess her heart is to have a gift desired ineffably . To know even just a small portion of her secrets is to know her intimately. To know the loving thoughts expressed in her eyes; to truly resonate with the pain in her cries, is to know pure love eternally.
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The savor of ecstasy is pleasurable like the taste of sweet cream slowly poured over freshly harvested and perfectly ripened deep red strawberries, or like heavy whipping cream in the highest quality rich dark Colombian coffee, sweetened flawlessly. Climactic eruption always happens with the use of a skilled tongue and fingers drenched with the passion of penetration. The feeling of oncoming explosive ecstasy is felt with distinct erotic vibrations. It could happen with deep breathing and euphoric screaming; it could happen with uncontrollable shaking and profoundly intimate whisperings. If a woman’s sexual senses are heightened enough, it could happen within seconds of her erogenous zones being touched. It is a thing of beauty to witness a woman orgasm in the depths of erotic immersion. Moments of unforgettable pleasure will be replayed in her thoughts forever. To know her body thoroughly is to know the sweetness of her, but it is only true rapture that will draw out her nectar. Soft kisses between her thighs while looking into her eyes intently, is the key that unlocks one of several doors that lead to full discovery of her erotic mystery.
The sweet taste of her is savored like Dulce de leche lingering on taste buds…so what then is the makeup of her essence? It is the mint freshness of her breath, the sensual womanhood of her breasts, her intimate spirit that vastly transcends mere sex, the prettiness of her feet that makes her goddess like aura complete, the love in her eyes that is immeasurably deep, the way her hair flows over pillows when she is asleep, the wonderful scent of her hair as if washed with heaven’s joyous tears, the heart shaped lips through which beautiful whispers are spoken and the beauty and strength of her spirit that can never be broken. She is a glorious culmination of all things feminine, like the way she sits on the edge of her bed and moisturizes her skin or the way she puts in her pear shaped stud diamond earrings. She is sweet. She is indeed sweet like crema dulce, a mouth watering craving enjoyed thoroughly and immeasurably.
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The pleasure from pleasing is manifest in moaning and wetness. There is an intensity in throbbing when intimacy is heightened. Lustful eyes gaze upon beautiful contours that will be licked, kissed and further explored. Sincere whisperings of intimate confessions is eroticism in its purest form.
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The grinding of her pleasure receptive clit against the stiff eagerness of his tongue causes her to feel every measure of his intent. She sucks his large hardness at the same time he does this. The more she intensely sucks, the more his purposed tongue wants to explore. The both want more. Her skin is soft and fragranced from bath oils and perfume. Her perfectly polished toes in peep toe heels had already enticed his desire for her before the position they are in. Her supple breasts are pressed against his euphoric flesh as she teases his cock-head and strokes his thickness. She looks back at him and takes a long pause, because what’s being done to her causes her body to shudder. She moans and closes her eyes to fully take in the ecstasy, leaning back slightly to feel the thrusts and writhing of his tongue more intensely. Still, she sucks and strokes his cock, looking back periodically and whispering passionately, Baby, don’t stop. Please, don’t fucking stop. Until there is uncontrollable shaking and unforgettable oral orgasms from marathon love making, he will not.
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The voice of a woman’s euphoria is a thing of beauty; when she says, make love to me, she means it with deep sincerity. Her aura is wonderful — she should be carefully handled like a flower placed in water delicately. The exploration of her mind and body is a fascinating journey. Her whispers are deep passion; her kisses, pure ecstasy.
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The craving of the flesh will not rest until ecstasy is let out through sincere screams and deep breaths. Every inch of pleasure is savored; every downward thrust and upward motion leading to a transcendent like explosive culmination. Pleasure receptors hold onto every sensual sensation. The ride is slow so girth and length can be more profoundly felt. Yes, the ride is slow, but the intimacy is deeper, and the euphoria is more intense.
Intimate Compositions 