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they're a lovely pink, as the carnation, lusciously full, a soft temptation;
sending a whisper which graces the air, gentle the dove, a passion to share.

a blue as a bird amid the white snow, they sweetly to paint a kind hearted soul;
the flit of a lash, a glance unto me, a raise of the brow, a heart to feel free.

a sweet perfection, thin and thus subtle, with a little smile, the cutest wrinkle;
a tenuous line, touch precious dimples, oh the countenance, beautiful, simple.

a golden nuance, soft, provocative, flowing a touch, dangling the skin;
the ends lie upon the light tender flesh, long and sensuous, to feel a warm breath.

Yes, the foundation a thought rests upon, as strong as life, but supple the fawn;
away the wet eye for extending grace, stable, delicate, a loving embrace.

firm, so breathtaking, molded mounds of flesh, so soft to the touch- upon my head rests;
unworthy my hands- simple perfection, to soothe and arouse, a heart's affection...

It is affection which now of I speak. This which renders submissive while gently lifting hearts unto eternal ideals- breathless, faint, willingly oblivious to society, to the world our mind creates. But not unlike the human flesh the feeling evanesce. Oh how I strive to revel in the bliss forever, and this, nature's loveliest creation, it's more calming than the whispering brook- only heard within nature's solitude. It's more comforting than an April rain, cleansing the air, easing the sullen mind. It's sweeter than the softest melody- soothing the broken heart as well the beast. It's more lifting than a subtle sunrise- granting the world another day of dreams. But with a vibrant sunset, I digress. And I, when a child's curiosity, to surely seek out that which was not known. But I, who was told these feelings lustful, would I then be inclined to seek the lust? Yes, sex and admiration, the mind and the body, the mental and physical desires, needs, wishes for companionship, these were convoluted interventions. To place love high on a pedestal, gazing upwards in unbelieving awe, But only folly! Alone, but to alienate one self, the tears fall soft as the April rain. They weave timid as the whispering brook. They soothe the heart as the sweet melody. To gently wipe them away with the dawn- to dream with the sunset, again they fall.

a bud hath flowered, within? a blue eye, within an embrace unto her I smile;
a breath to the ear, the time for a tea, a soft melody while poetry reads.

so soft is her voice- shivering me, whispering feather passionately reads;
the mystical lips caressing the words, thus bringing to life as I've never heard.

the book upon shelf, syllables softly dance within brilliance of philosophies;
never could a mind so capture a heart, a sharing of souls thus never to part.

so caustic the breeze which enters a home, to take one away, to leave one alone;
but with a late eve a blossom hath sailed, a glance cross the breeze a vision beheld.

they're a lovely pink as the carnation, and lusciously full, a soft temptation;
sending a whisper which graces the air, gentle the dove a passion to share...

 

A selfish thought beguiles a distant mind with visions of a lonely heart-

a sigh, a thought, a realization of the pressures of love.

 

darkness, and she, she has fallen asleep;
her dark hair carelessly upon my chest;
her slow breathing- soft, sweet, and innocent-
who am I to bring harm unto a heart?

Oh my sleepy one, rest, rest your heavy eyes as I contemplate these the feelings I so avert. Your warmth lies kindly upon, thus sending shivers within, but my slightly heavy breathing is not what disturbs me so. No, one must delve deeper to find this which trembles the fibers of my fidelity:

Few a night we now have been, together, lying in darkness, moving to a heart's sultry rhythm. But now there is silence, a sweet sigh, sleeping innocence. Ah, a tenuous song whispers of the arriving dawn, and with, evident truths weigh the heavy on my thoughts. Yes, it is but the hours to your awakening, but my silent tears are telling that I beg you not to fleeing. Yes, with the gentle moments of your sleep, we've been freed from our painted words, from our evening guise, and now I hopelessly gaze at your still frame lying in esteemed innocence, emanating the natural splendor of the beauty you possess. But oh how I weep! For with the ending of your sleep you'll heed my false words of apathy, and with a kiss, you'll depart unaware of my feelings for you. But still, I must remain silent! For a false love will fade as a passing flutter of lash or a sudden scent of breeze. No, too many times cupid's dart has fallen harmlessly to the foot of impenetrable solitude, away I watch them flee with teary eye or hardened heart. Oh my sleeping angel, I will not sadden your eyes and taint your loving heart with ill capriciousness or confused dreams of love. But what of these warm passions you send shivering? These confused feelings of love met with morning memories of past betrayal? These silent lips shall refrain from utterance, but oh how I weep! We lie together, but I've nothing to give except for a fragile heart in need of tenderness. But, your eyes, fluttering truth, with the birds bring about the morn. Thus I shall close my heart as you blossom to another day, and my love, silent, shall remain.

 

so gently falls the refreshing rain,
oh please, cleanse my mind, take me away.

so off, I'm off, I'm ready to flee
from love unrequited and melancholy.

but now I'm inside gazing out a window,
in a lonely place where the lonely go;

though a wonderful place for the people in love,
or the audacious ones with an ignorance to shove

into the ears of the undaunted fools
who sit there laughing upon their stools

out amid in their evening guise
where never a movement misses an eye.

but I turn my head the silent away
from all the pretentious games we play.

a humble etching on a little stone,
'in memory of those who are dying alone';

but when the light has dimmed from my days
I see no need for a gathering place,

for the memory a far, far better urn,
then musing the place of slithering worms.

yea, this a stone cast into the sea,
along with all of our hopes and dreams.

thus I feel the cold of death's empty store,
the humble stone rests upon the sea floor,

away from the waves of anxiety,
crashing the shores relentlessly

with dreams of love, anticipating,
oh the hours of waiting, waiting;

but the moments pass stagnant and slow
like drops of blood dripping below

to form a dead pool with a silent sound
waiting the victim to fall to the ground.

and slowly they weave, drops on the window,
the rain still falls I'm still sitting alone.

I've turned away the weather seems colder,
but a warmer hand is grasping my shoulder.

here I stand with a foot in the sea,
my head turned to one beckoning me,

but should I turn as I have turned before,
to stay with my stone upon the sea floor?

 
The late night sound of passing strangers has me wishing one of them was you, and as each person slowly passes, my hope is constantly withering. I would love to hear your soft footsteps approaching my dark home. To hear your kind hand gently tap upon my stern door. I should happily invite you in, let your smile light up my darkness while the candlelight flickers upon your lovely black hair- straightened by angels, colored with the romance of the night.


"There is nothing to say, but a poem speaks when the lips are silent"



Oh, should I feel the guilt- admiring your flesh so, but I'm also of flesh though? Entangled together we're more I deem- the furthest dream, the truest notion, the sweetest laughter, a deep emotion, undying passion, steadfast sincerity, the greatest of love, breathtaking ecstasy!

The rain warms the winter evening, and like an angel, her fair flesh decorates the black bed. A kiss of lips and gaze of innocent eyes so sure, they look back soft as the flight of bird. A whisper, a smile, a silent wish it never to end- in the passion of night the vision dims.

how can I explain the strength of love
to one who has seen so little of ?
and the flower, gave as a symbol,
withering away by the window,
it's whispering, 'all fair must decline,
slowly to fade in moments of time.'
though as man this beauty will perish,
the love it represents I'll cherish.
to strive to seek the essence of love,
and where it derives its power from.
I confess, I'm drawn to nature's fair,
the sweetest blossom gracing the air,
but when I'm enveloped in her grace,
the wandering bee from place to place,
no longer has need to journey on
for the precious it now rests upon.
but many a bloom has caught an eye;
a flutter, buzz, then quickly to fly;
but this a flee from physical lures,
not an inner beauty which endures,
glowing within an innocent smile,
shining timeless from untainted eye.
ah, this is a natural splendor,
the flowing source of love's endeavors;
misting comfort on a weary mind,
streaming warmth where there is none to find.
oh how empty the pretentious hand,
nor has vanity a mien to lend...
and the flower, gave as a symbol,
wilted, forgotten, by the window;

but how to explain the strength of love?
it is I who knows so little of ...