Dark Womb

The depths of me are strewn over the ruin of my heart’s desire. To think that I could have love within my grasp yet see it fall into eternal fire. The soul within me is shattered glass, wounding me deeply in many hidden places unmercifully. The very marrow of my being cries out for an oasis of love, but still, love shuns me like a leper walking slowly into a vast city. Perhaps I held on too tightly to the thing that I wanted mostly. In my desolation there is no feminine touch or sweet words to comfort me. My tears fall on the remnants of brokenness. I am hungry and thirsty in a harsh wilderness. Oh, what I would give for one last kiss. I have become a wonderer stumbling in darkness; trying to find my way back to unconditional love in its pureness. The secret diaries of my heart want to remain hidden, but tears force me to write this. In a cold, dark, and desolate place I am my own witness. There is no substitute for a woman’s love. I tried to hide within my own heart, but my own heart calls out for her every time the depths of me are uttered. I try to bury memories daily with sad songs and intricately spoken eulogies — but memories refuse to die and go silently. I had hoped for a new resurrection within me, but her face is all I can see. Her face is all I can see. Haunt me, my love; haunt me, is what my soul screams loudly. Is there no reprieve for the unloved and the exhausted? Sleep does not come easily, if at all. I have had the carnal affections of many women, but it is the the whispers of only one that so moved me. Without even a touch, she captured me in totality. Her hair is like a black river flowing endlessly; her eyes are a wondrous mystery; her lips are the softness and sweetness of honey. I stretch my hands forth, hoping that I can capture a sliver of her aura. She is as beautiful as the joyous singing of archangels. Haunt me, my love. Haunt me. Let your love fall upon me and baptize me in the depths of your soul. The pain in my eyes do not lie. Passersby may stare at me with curiosity as I openly cry. Let them stare and draw near to the sound of my voice so they can hear the novel of the desolate and unloved. I desire a new resurrection secretly — but her face is indelible upon me. I am a leaf in the fall carried by the wind hoping to land on the peaceful river of a woman’s heart. I have sojourned in cold darkness for so long; for so long. Oh, to hear the voice of a woman singing a beautiful song. I was once a baby in the safety of my mother’s womb, carried for many months until delivery, and then I became a man only to see love leave me. I call on heaven to safely deliver me again, but this time from the clutches of torment and misery. The dark womb of the unloved is so cold and lonely. The dark womb of the forsaken is unforgiving and filled with misery.

Unnamed Lovers

Though they lie in stagnant stillness with closed eyes, still, somehow they fly with wings of the inseparable love that they left behind. Indeed, they are buried roses, returned to their origins as seeds, gloriously resprouting anew in the life after — basking in eternally perfect weather, caressed by celestial breezes, where they again hug their lost long mothers and previously downtrodden fathers who transformed into heavenly beings — where there are no tears, or the terror of hopelessness and irrational fears; but where there is indescribable love and a peace that could neve be explained to mortal ears. They are lovers who loved each other deeply without fear. They are immensely loved. They are there.

Another Holds Her

I take an inventory of myself, and I retrace the steps I made on the day you left. Still, my heart beats for you.

But someone else takes away your breath—

Diligently, I search the vast emotions of my depths to find memories of you smiling in your favorite sundress.

But someone else takes away your breath—

I whisper vows to the mighty archangels, telling them of my contriteness; my tears falling on heaven’s steps until there are no tears left.

But someone else takes away your breath—

I ponder theories of love and reunification after death, lying silently in bed with my hands over the place within me that you are secretly kept.

But someone else takes away your breath—

Tears drop on pictures of you as I reach for but a sliver of your aura with my arms outstretched.

But someone else takes away your breath—

With every loving touch and passionate kiss I received from you, parts of your heart, I secretly kept. Your love is in me forever, fused to the foundations of my deepest depths.

But someone else takes way your breath—

Intricate Intimacy

The purity of transcendent intimacy;

The expressions of true love that heal the brokenhearted
and flow flawlessly;

The pleasure of intense sensuality;

The oneness of a woman and a man who
are dedicated to one another completely;

The adoration of the delicate nature of a woman
in the beauty of her femininity;

The wondrous protective strength of a man
who holds his woman tightly.

Their love is like the revelation of
a long pondered mystery;

A display of rendered emotions born
of many beautiful intricacies.

Emotional Depths

With every beautiful whisper, I turn around to see if it’s her. With every vivid dream, with tears I reach for her. With every light breeze, I remember the floral savor of her aroma. With every strand of her long dark hair left on white pillows, there is a portion of her angelic aura. With every tear that falls, there are remnants of her. With every utterance of her name, I caress every letter. With every beat of my heart, she is closer. With every precious memory, I embrace her tighter. With every thought I transcribe to paper, she is my constant fire. With the depths of my longing, she is my never-ending desire.

The Whispers Cry

In the interim, I look at the man in the mirror and speak to him; he whispers of lost love and unceasing suffering. He speaks of the pain that never ends. He talks about who is more precious than even the most rare diamonds and implores me to never betray the heart of a woman. Maybe I’ll see him again, but until then, I will internalize his sayings in deep contemplation. Before he left, he told me to remember him and he weeps at every inference of the tears that rolled down the face of his beautiful woman after her heart was broken. It was the way she looked at him with tears in her eyes, that so touched him. Through wails of regret, he admitted to me in secrecy that of her love, he is no longer worthy and that he sincerely wants her heart to heal and he desperately wants her to be happy; his whispers are that of a contrite man shattered and decimated in totality from his past iniquities. I try to comfort him with references of beautiful memories, but still, he cries unceasingly. He speaks softly when he speaks of her, reaching as if she is still there; and still, he weeps unceasingly. Through loving whispers, he weeps unceasingly.

Loving Lips

The space between the anticipation of a passionate kiss creates its own energy that brings healing with the touch of loving lips. The sun shines on them as if acknowledging that true love has given birth again. They are committed to each other until the end. They are lovers. They are friends. The beauty of her feminine aura only the heavenly hosts could describe. She is a mortal, born of a miracle with an ethereal nature that abides. With every kiss they feel even more alive. Her lips are the taste of raw honey and the softness of them, like ten thousand rose petals covering freshly cut fescue in the fall. She brings him a nurturing only a woman could bring. Her breath, the sweet savor of freshly cut mint leaves in lemongrass tea sweetened with raw brown sugar. Her hair, the winding of a mighty river. The contours of her neck are subtly sexy; the curvature of her breasts embody the womanhood of her feminine beauty. Her lover places his hands upon her with gentle lovingness, expressing his feelings to her without words, telling her that he truly loves her without cliché sentiments or meaningless utterances that drown in the seas of unimportance. There is a sense of belonging in them that draw them close to each other. She glows more brightly than usual because unbeknownst to her, there is a life the dwells within her. With illuminated wings, and a halo of seven stars she will deliver. The agony of her labor will be temporary and she will shine even more brightly in the hours close to her maternity. They will be all connected eternally. The energy of a passionate kiss led to the creation of a new life within her, but they will never lose their sensual fire. They will never lose that beautiful anticipation right before an erotic kiss is given. With every touch they reinvent their passion again and again. They have cried together, and immense love is their constant shelter. They have held hands and walked through fire together. They have defeated the potent corrosion of uncertainty and second guessing. He abides in her and she in him. It is truly amazing, the beautiful healing that comes with passionate kissing — the way it can take away the pain and the cares of the world and place love in its proper perspective. If only one could hear the beautiful whispers that are spoken before kissing. The body is relaxed and tingling because it is a familiar euphoric feeling. Kissing leads to licking, and moaning, and erotic screams from deep penetration. They say there are eight wonders, but nothing is akin to the mystery of a woman. Nothing. There are many beautiful things in this world, but a woman’s beauty trumps all of them. To fall into her embrace is to fall into a place of love and nurturing. To touch her face, is to touch the most beautiful thing the creator ever made. To have her love, is to have something invaluable and sacred. To betray her love, is to cast a rare diamond into an ocean where it could never be found again. To think of her only in sexual terms is to be exceedingly foolish in ignoring her intellect and the beauty of her totality. For a man to not take his time and learn the pleasurable reactions of a woman’s body is to risk her dissatisfaction in eroticism and love making. To not acknowledge the length and beauty of her hair is to ignore what the creator has given to her for a covering. There is a subtle sensuality in the beauty of a woman’s feet that is missed regularly. An ankle bracelet and pedicured toes in stiletto mules can drive a man to lose himself in the pleasuring of a woman in any and everyway possible. From the sweetness of an impassioned kiss, the mouth travels lower and lower until it finds the essence of longing that is wondrous wetness — but still, it is the taste and softness of the lips. It is the taste and softness of the lips.

Intimate Memories

We used to venture to Café Intermezzo at 3AM for New York Cheesecake and expresso. I would hold you intimately at an inside table with a lit candle or on the patio. I would kiss you and tell you that I love you with the depths of me; sometimes we would change our selection from cheesecake and expressos, to old fashioned donuts and Irish Coffee. We used to sing together in the car on our late night drives on Peachtree. I may have failed, but I tried with all my heart to give you the best of me. Out of the blue, you pop up in my memories; In my mind’s gallery, I screenshot the images of you looking at me lovingly. Still, I hold you in my heart and contemplate your beauty. I wonder who now holds you. I wonder if you are married with a family. I wonder if sometimes you think of me. I wonder if you are happy.

No Reprieve

I wonder who holds you. I wonder who whispers words of love to you that move your heart and cause tears of joy to flow as the sun shines on you through curtains that strong winds blow. I wonder if he gently moves strands of your long curly hair from your face before he kisses you when you are sleeping. I wonder if he holds you in his embrace when you are dreaming. I wonder if you comfort him in unending affection when the tears of sorrow are streaming. My contemplation torments me mercilessly, and I find myself wanting to be him. I wonder if he reaches for you with the depths of his soul even when you are in his presence. I wonder if he thoroughly intimately pleases you, reaching the sweet depths of your essence. I wonder if he bathes you in bath oils in a setting with candles, beautiful music, and aromatherapy. Last night, I dreamt that you were lying next to me. Does my heart burn with longing or with the insanity of uncontrolled jealousy? Why do my thoughts torment me, saying to me unceasingly that it should have been me? I look at the man in the mirror and tell him straightforwardly of his stark reality. I would rather live in desolation than in a perpetual unattainable fantasy. In my mind, I kiss her one last time and let her go peacefully — but still, she is there in every breath I breathe. I try and try again to stem my longing, but my heart finds no reprieve. Without her, I want to breathe but my heart and soul find no reprieve. From my own desires, again and again I leave, but still, there is no reprieve.