love – Page 2 – Letters For My Lovers

Until We Meet Again

The raw scent of musky love
Envelops my thighs
My back arches, beckoning your arrival
My legs spread gently,
Always willing and ready
To feed you, my relentless lover.

Hands perched on parted thighs,
Only the most palatable position
For the refined and dedicated palate
Of my energetic connoisseur.
A sigh exhales, a moan soon follows
Etching ancient art
Into the heat of my burning body
A bit of this, a splash of that,
Savouring the many shades that unfold
So deliciously onto your tongue.

Nails digging into shoulders,
You tickle me just right
A timeless creator of the sparks
That ignite the fabric of my being.
Aching…
Come closer, my love,
Please,
Yes, slowly…

The deafening rumbling
Of a wave crashing onto shore,
Parting the seas of my lust,
Electrifying my senses.
I gasp for air,
Insatiable.

Overwhelm me with your love,
Just a little longer…
Deeper.
Harder.
Forever.

Tiny Dancer

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.

Wolf – For W

What will the Wolf say
When he stares the sun in the eyes?
When night becomes day,
Day becomes night,
And hard feelings fossilize into amber?
When Smouldering creativity
Meets twilight inspiration,
And the world fades away…

When I think of you,
I see shadows dancing on the moon
And faerie lights tickling the darkness.
A midsummer’s night’s dream
Created from the meetings of strange minds.
Perfected, time and time again.
One stroke, then another, sacredly
Etching, connecting, correcting,
Before sinking into contemplation.

An eternal carnival in your lair,
My body dies, divides, renews
Becoming one, yet another
With every step of our twisted process.
A mask within a mask,
Inspiration…
A pile of pigment between your fingers,
A pinch of this,
A dab of that;
With the heave of a breast,
Lilith the predator, becomes prey
Caught by a hunter more skilled than herself.

If beauty is in the eye of the beholder,
Physical manifestations of primal dreams
Can tell no lies.
So, dig your claws into the fabric of my creation;
Let your hot breath linger,
As your teeth reach for my neck.
And tell me,
My humble predator…
What does it feel like,
When you’re howling at the sun?

February

Originally written on February 8, 2014

As the brisk cold caressed our faces,
on this slow Sunday on a Saturday
the Universe came to a halt.

I watched through the window,
a statuesque passerby smiling.
The traits of their frozen face,
speaking a language beyond words.

On slow Sundays on a Saturday,
it feels like I’m floating above the world.
Every step feels like I’m on the moon.
Maybe the moon looks down on me,
envious of my lack of gravity.

Slow Sundays on Saturdays,
make the winter nostalgia lessen.
The numbing cold becomes Lavender,
or a rainbow of Spring flowers.
The sound of a jazz piano,
amidst the deafening silence of this day.

Come take a walk with me,
on this slow Sunday on a Saturday.
Watch the world through the eyes of
a minstrel of the moon…

Anisoptera – For J

Ephemeral emerald iridescence
envelops the fragility of your oblong form
barely seen, a flutter of translucent wings
surrenders your position, caught in a ray of light
enticed by the Succubus, like a moth to a flame

Your many eyes see beyond her carnal shell
contemplating the woes of the disconnected
shimmering belonging, you glisten in the sun
of the one you love, now, then, and tomorrow
until the cycle starts anew; a natural order
reborn from the cold, dark, depths of the pond.

Haven

Everywhere I look, you’re there, somewhere
a subtly stifled smirk, unbeknownst to others,
a mirrored image in the gleaming window,
the steady tap, tap, tap of the beat of a drum,
the crisp sound of shoes on freshly fallen snow.

When did you become my haven,
the place in which I’ll forever feel safe and warm,
an ocean of love, narrowly navigated by the few
aho can embrace unlikely truths and unusual encounters?

Kiss me on a stormy morning,
wipe away my tears as the rain draws lines on the panes.
Pull me in close, against your beating heart,
compel the pain away with your radiant heat.
Hold my cheek and urge me to sleep.

Version française

Havre

Partout où erre l’oeil, tu es là, quelque part
Un sourire narquois subtil, inconnu des autres,
Une image miroir dans une fenêtre luisante,
Le battement continu du tambour,
La clarté des pas sur une neige fraîche.

Quand es-tu devenu mon havre,
Le refuge où toujours je serai en sécurité
Un Océan d’amour, navigué tendrement par ceux
Qui enlacent les vérités des rencontres inhabituelles?

Embrasse-moi par une matinée tempétueuse,
Essuie mes larmes au rythme de la pluie sur les carreaux.
Tiens-moi fort, contre ton coeur battant
Éteins la douleur avec ta chaleur radieuse
Caresse ma joue et invite le sommeil.

Phoenix – Goodbye, L.

I wish I could hold in my hands,
your incandescent insecurities
and use them to fuel your fire.

Oh, what a sight…
Brightly consuming everything
until you emerge from the ashes,
— Radiant —

Yet I feel you slipping
melting through my fingers
down a path, I cannot follow…

A husk of who you appeared to be
anger sketched in steel
between the lines
of your beautiful face,
caught in a frenzy of fear
longing always to run
until there’s nowhere left to go.

I cry out!
The wind whistles in your hair
as part of me flies to catch up.
A little bird of love,
heart of gold and periwinkle,
who’ll follow you forever
no matter where you end up.

The Artist

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.

Bunny 🐇

Deer in headlights,
Sublime emanations and elevations
Poet pierced earnestly
By an artist’s flair
For the unknown and the unusual.
A rabbit in a hole,
Ready to eat your secret garden.
Shhhhh…

Daddy’s Love

Eat me for breakfast

A light midday meal

An afternoon delight

A delectable dinner

A midnight hankering

Obediently ready, quick-witted little kitten.

Sit, kneel, lie, spread, swallow.

Quiet, still…

Yours once, twice, again, forever.

To have and to hold,

To finger and to fuck

Faithfully.

VERSION FRANÇAISE

Fais de moi ton déjeuner

Un petit encas à midi

Un délice d’après-midi

Un dîner délectable

Une envie de minuit

Obéissante à souhait, petite minette toujours prête.

Assis, à genoux, couché, écarte, avale.

Silence, immobile…

Tienne d’abord, ensuite, encore, toujours.

A avoir et à garder,

A doigter et à baiser

Fidèlement.

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Version française

Havre

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