Posts tagged spilled ink
if I was
blinded by mere mote
so it mote be
that I cannot see
beyond the smallest part
taken to the place
within the smallest space
of thought that will not fly
mai seulement
un petit mot
dis moi pour chacun nuit
j’espere, desir, souhaite
un peu d’amour
c’est tout
fallen
abased
descended
denigrated
fallen
from grace
abased
through space
descended
disgraced
i have fallen
fallen
from wishes
base and low
desires you don’t know
fallen
looking back
through the rearview
to you
home flickering red
in the hesitant brake lights
the tailights setting fire
to places left
behind
the black snow floated down
filling the air
the bitter taste of burned hope
the faint strain
of strings idly bowed
the song of a heart
gone to ash
i wanted hope
and heart to sing
but in the dying light
of last embers
you gave your kiss
to him
and yet beneath the breaking dawn
the western pacific lies
placid and patient
a horizon of light spilling out
across the plain
what can be seized by wish and want
what can be sowed by trust and try
where can you go
once the pyrhic past
has gone to ash
there is always another dawn
stretching out upon the western road
just beware
the icarus curse
for every rising light
casts forth its heat
show me
with a wanton look
your heated touch
as if all alone
with the heat of lust
strip away your care
strip away all thought
with a wanton touch
with a heated look
show me
let my eyes devour
what you hide beneath
let me in to see
what you hide away
the curve of your calf
move often it is the smooth warmth
the silken softness of thigh
against parting lips in a kiss
that warm nuzzle silken smooth
that comes to mind
but now
at this moment
it is the curve of your calf
i want to feel
against my kiss
my fingers holding the arch
of your soul
feeling your skin
my questing lips seeking
just that pulse point
where i can find your heat
and trace the line straight
into your heart
what does it mean
that the light in your eyes
wakes me in a dark night
and leaves me wondering
what does it mean
that your words come
out of the blue
with little herald or warning
and my heart races
to see you reach for me
what does it mean
that I dream
the warm taste of your kiss
of wanting more of you than this
plotting collisions in the street
wondering if we will ever meet
and dreams are not the province alone
of the sleeping mind
for i will find myself bestirred at times
by the roused from dreaming
rumination
of my fingers that have been transported
from their earthly norm
to search out and caress
soft places warm becoming heated
at their touch
at times my lips will start awake
from dreaming
of your kiss
and that moment of tightening
round soft places that will waken
to their touch
yes dreams invest in many places
teasing memories
into wishes
teasing wishes
into hopes
i want to stop thinking about you. I want to stop creating images and scenes of you, of us, of my hands on you, of your hands on me. Even though I cannot unbutton your shirt, slowly as my eyes are fixed on yours, the warmth of your skin revealed little by little until I pull the cloth from your shoulders and press my lips to your neck, I cannot stop thinking about how you would look sitting before me barely clad. I want to stop thinking about the first time your breasts would be bared to me, and my hand wondering traces the curves and contours before needing to press my lips against you and taste you with my questing tongue. I want to stop the scripting that gets more and more extreme, since i cannot see you, cannot touch you, the scenes in which I take hold of you binding you to the bed naked, so that you cannot escape what now I want to do. I want to stop the desire that runs hot in my veins simmering beneath my skin, hardening my desire to a throb that needs release within you. But I do not want to let go of you and so, all I have are the thoughts and images that my desire will create.
the taste of you
in a kiss
with that kiss
that shivers you so
the feel of you
against finger tips
the movement
of hips
that curls up toes
the taste of you
warm and sweet
on my tongue
heady scent
on my skin
dizzying desire
swelling within
some dreams
are felt within a heavy fog
the dank moments unfolding
inexorably timed
and waking from the fog held dream
the tendrils waft still
with the morn
some dreams
are suffered locked in chains
the weight of fear
and pain so cold
and waking from that prison place
the shackle marks
are slow to fade
some dreams
are warmed in summer’s grace
the honeyed sun
on beauty’s face
your hand in mine
our lips can touch
and waking from that dream
is loss