She wanders around the
streets built by Caesar.
Alone, driven by a desire
to find an emotional home.
Quiet, inquisitive, a seeker
of something she cannot explain.
She feels, she writes,
seeks a fulfilment
that is always beyond her grasp.
I wonder about her,
wish her peace;
hope she finds what she is looking for.
A love deep and sincere.
A home warm and clear
of strife and fear.
He thought of her
walking through a dense wood
or on a desserted shore.
Lost in her thoughts.
Happy to be away from him.
She should escape more with her thoughts.
Explore the tranquility of space.
Massage her inner soul.
Yet when she returns
He knows she will want him.
Need his assured touch
His mouth, his love.
He thought of her
walking through the garden
skipping through the door
no need of anymore solitude.
Silence before a storm of desire.
If I get inspired I’ll write you a short prose piece, something to turn you on, words to prepare you, excite you, entice you, To make you sigh, to fly to a higher place as fingers explore, seduce, slip inside you.
I want to initiate, facilitate, escalate your desire to make yourself breathless beyond your illicit dreams. Oh, to take you, lead you to a long perfect release.
Busy fingers find you, tease you, slip away. I wait for any movement, any slight inclination.
The pleasure rolls on, until it dissipates your need.
It was always a beautiful thought
not something which could be caught or bought.
It was an essence, a Sensitivity she had taught
so that when their bodies were taut none of them fought.
It was always two for her, he scored nought.
Yet the closure he sought eluded him,
so he went home distraught, dreaming and wrought.
There would be no sleep now as he remembered a sensual exchange, not too long ago, which had taken him to a higher place.
Her words had caressed him, excited him, driven him to a desire that burned.
He now lay in bed, remembered; wanted her desire to lead him again to a place where she could write her own words to entice, to create a new experience, driven by heart and desire.
A crystal clear image slipped into his mind. There would be no sleep now
You’re a wanderer who doesn’t want to find the wilderness, you’re more likely to ramble into a room of a traveller; a quiet one, one who listens to you.
No globetrotter who has lewd tales to tell will do for you; a literary wayfarer or a nomad who has found his home might reveal all you have to give.
No transient, one night stand, flash in the pan kind of man. Away with thee hiker, hobo, bum. Though you do need someone who will illicit fun.
You’re a wanderer but only in motion, your heart remains in one place.
‘Break up’, you say you want to ‘break up’. I would fall apart, fall to pieces, become a fragment in your story. Do not fracture my heart, shatter my illusions or splinter my soul.
You say you want to break up.
Perhaps we could explode, blow up or blow ourselves apart; better than letting it crumble, deteriorate, decay, decompose at a slow, slow pace.
I don’t want to rot in your memory, perish the thought, or collapse into an emotional wreck.
You were such a wonderful degenerate in bed; I think we should teeter toward an informal bust up, rather then be smashed to smithereens.
I say I want to break up.
Tight, pink and wild, they sway to a gentle movement
stretched over a bed large enough to satisfy anyone.
Only the gentle sound of sighs broke through the silence of the morning,
as an accompaniment to the soft sound of the amber flesh
used to arouse and awaken.
Oh, to taste from tip to toe.
Of knowing when to start,
to sharing what you know.
Fruit always tastes sweeter in the glimmer of first light.
When hands, fingers, mouths are slow and bodies are tight.
To taste the flesh with the tip of a tongue,
To open and reveal,
To caress, to excite, a simple touch of delight.
The Conversation – two
It started with a stroll through the park,
then quickly developed into a situation which created a spark.
A thought passed through a mind to excite, to receive an invite.
Someone not too far away imagined cries, deep sighs, a movement over thighs
as the situation meandered through non verbal communication.
Remember the lost lover’s lament
Be kind, turn on a mind, let a seeker find.