Hi LunaRed,
So sorry I just now discovered this work of yours. Thank You.
Very good lessons in your words.
A Universe of Two
Sweet hot passion fires her,
as if a blast furnace were within that silken smooth body,
straining to pull me even tighter,
as our nerves explode,
in frenzied chaotic lightening strikes of pleasure.
Nails trace scarlet tracks like steel spurs,
neither felt or cared about, our minds disembodied
as we nova like dying suns, ever brighter
on colliding orbits burning up our universe, in overload
leaving fragmented worlds in our sweat-soaked spiral, to far to measure.
Gasping for air between distant planets of reality and peace,
raging with our needs and desires powering us on,
setting fire to the edge of our realities,
and incinerating reason and will,
until we glow as if pure flame at the last.
That moment approaches, then passes like a comet’s strike at least,
shattering us into scintillating fragments at dawn,
each a dream, a thought, a memory glittering bright in tonality,
against the dark of our space so still,
until we fade from sight, the cataclysm past.
Remembering That Moment
Like a soft whisper in my mind,
she comes gentle as a summer’s breeze,
her image, a misty painting of sweet moments bound.
I can still see the way the wind lifted her hair,
like a caress from an invisible lover,
in softest adoration of her just then.
She is like the purest gold refined,
with eyes that, oh so gently, tease,
and lips I ache to kiss yet again, as these days go round.
I love the way her summer frock leaves her shoulders bare,
and the way she moves over the emerald clover’s cover,
in nimble, teasing play with such sweet ease again.
As Dawn Approaches
In a darkened room she lay sleeping, covers all askew,
her face in soft sweet repose, a smile touching there.
One hand flung across a pillow beside her head, ease imbued,
and one still tangled in the sheet from passion’s flare.
Total relaxation did she portray in such a wondrous way,
as if arranged by the ingenuity of a Master’s gifted hand.
Soon she will wake, and the tableau fade away for another day,
unaware of the staggering beauty she embodied in sleep so grand.
To her the world is just the world she knows, common in every way,
so she doesn’t know the extraordinary art that is her in private survey.
Only I know the wonder, in the quiet moments of this gallery before day,
here in the hush of our bedroom, watching her sleep, the sublime portrayed.