For is the love of love itself not a confusion, A disarray of synapses, receiving tiny bolts of information That make us believe a familiarity, of sorts, can give way To a rumbling inside that can barely be contained.
But how can this be?
The intensity rises with every thought, Mouth-watering passion, so thick in the air, you can taste it. I can smell you, kiss you, taste you, breathe you, swallow you… Surely this is not merely a figment, or a chemical imbalance.
Do we ever truly love?
The overwhelming need to bond, and retain our feet on solid ground, Makes one forget that life is more than babbling babes and blue balls It is adventure; the glance of a flame-haired beauty, across the bar A piece of silk floating in the window of the forgotten hotel room.
So, what is love, love?
Love is the salty taste of your lips after a run. It’s the gentle strength of your hand against my cheek. The softness of your touch when you part my thighs. It is the warmth of your smile when you lose yourself in thought. The fullness of your laughter when you can’t contain your amusement. It is the depth of our souls intertwining, time and time again. But love is also knowing how to let go when our time is up, Just to welcome you back in tender embrace, every time you return. Love is knowing that I am yours, beyond convention and expectation. It is knowing that you are mine, and that I hold the key to your heart. Even if no one else will ever know, and we are forever worlds apart.
A thousand times I could die Waiting for your love. A wailing heart brings forth a song, Of melancholy and mourning For a love that only exists inside a box. Unlatching, a tiny dancer turns In melodic perfection, a pirouette of desire What goes around, comes around, as they say. She turns, again and again, Always facing herself in the end. Perfect imperfections splattered on a soul, She’s there, at the tip of a tongue… Little. Love. Lust. Lilith. Linger… Never will her step falter, For her puppeteer knows no other melody, Save that of forgiveness and sorrow. Alone, she turns, again and again, Facing only but herself in the end.
Some days I’m addicted To the heartbreak, The hard ache of knowing I will never be the one. Writing in cursive lines, My mind wanders to strange places, A fleeting moment where my hand Plunges deep into my body, To squeeze out the love, And let it seep onto the floor. Perilous belongings to the world of the night, Make light of cold sheets, And trembling lips. The shadows unwind upon themselves, Living in deeper creases Than the love we share When you hover near.
A new dawn brings a new day, Where I wonder why I ever believed my heart Could break the stone of my resolve. Like a child in need of guidance, I welcome my wary insecurity. Cradled safely in my arms, I hush in her ear, caress her cheek Remind her of the love she holds within. “Lilith, dear, Weep not for the lost, For they are not your burden to bear. Fear not for your soul, For you are slave to no other. Bear your love with pride, sweet Lilith, For to desire the undesirable is simply a sign That you fear your immutable strength. You sway amidst the masked dancers, Never quite here nor there, Sometimes wanting what you cannot have, As simply as opposites attract. But no one will ever love you, Sweet, darling, Lilith, Because the greatest love you’ll know Will always be the one you gift yourself. Now. Always. Forever.”
Delicate dove in your hands, You encourage my flight. Warm lanterns in the shadows, A gentle keeper of my love.
Through restraints of passion, True colours shine Painting, etching, sculpting… My body your eternal canvas Your ropes a medium of your love, An expression of your desire.
In your hands, I hurt, I melt, I love, I sigh, I hang, I cry. Your tight grip, Like a warm embrace on my soul Harks the moment of transcendence, Freeing me from my corporeal bindings. I can see you clearly; in spirit. Brilliant light; enveloping. Every rotation, fold, tie, twist, Speaks more than a thousand words. Interpreters of inspiration, We speak a common language: ‘The beauty of tight binding.’
The Muse of your musings, I humbly accept the offerings at my feet. With spread legs, and eager hands, My body is yours to please and cherish. Tickle me with your tongue, Reach into the depths of my being, To gently release me into your world.
This is a non-erotic poem, written in February of 2017.
emerging from the clouds the energy boy peers below the clear layers of existence, tiny hearts beating he understands why others break the rule to observe to document don't do it, they say never shifting yet here he stands, frenetic scribbling desperately deciphering their erratic thoughts and unnerving actions he cries, remembering how it felt to be human