Through open windows, curtains move to and fro
as if dancing in rhythm to the music of spring breezes.
Intimate moments are uncovered by the morning sunshine
that illuminates two lovers in-between glimpses.
Inside, there are tender kisses, tears of joyous crying,
and the erotic secrets of sensual whisperings.
Tag: poem
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If only I could touch her face
and tell her through my eyes
what words could never describe. -
Guide my hands oh Lord, and renew my resolve.
Strengthen me in my hour of truth,
and increase my courage to see the mission through.
The men in my care, hear their cries, and see their tears.
Restore their health quickly, so they can gird up themselves
and carry on in battle valiantly.
If they should face death, welcome them into your rest
where they will dwell in peace eternally.
Shield me from the attacks of the enemy,
and keep my hands steady.
Calm my heart in the face of the storm
so I can fulfill my duties and triage correctly.
Allow these men to find solitude in their pain;
take their thoughts away from the severity of their injuries.
Focus their thoughts on the beauty of the women they love,
and bring back fond memories of their families.
In their hour of agony, provide them an escape.
Heavenly Father, for the light of your love we wait.
In the hell of warfare, for your angels we await. -
I know you lie to me, but you lie so beautifully.
After utterances of falsity you kiss me, and tell me you love me.
You say, Baby, your heart speaks to me
and other sweet things like, You make me complete,
But I know the essence of you and the depths of your deceit.
The scent of your perfume is intoxicating, and the taste of your lips are sweet.
I admit, at first I couldn’t see it, but it is your aura that revealed it.
The lies you tell are spoken softly in feminine caress;
you kiss me passionately and draw my head into your breasts.
For a moment I am yours, but only for a moment.
If only you were sincere. I sigh—
my heart is filled with sorrow, and my wounded soul cries. -
Because of my faults and afflictions, do not shun me;
through loving eyes look upon me and truly see the makings of my depths.
Hear the beauty of my utterances through anguished breaths;
In my weariness, hold me in warm caress, and immerse me in your tenderness.
Had I not tasted of love, I would not have known of its healing effects;
do not turn away from me lest I am shattered in my vulnerable fragility,
for if I am shattered, I shall be vastly scattered — and if I am scattered,
the remnants of me will be blown away by the wind,
and taken to a place of desolation where coldness of the heart begins. -
They were born men
With aspirations of reaching heaven
But learned to transcend
And became gods in the interim. -
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.
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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.
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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. -
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.
Intimate Compositions 