Lover – A Passion With Words

“No tears in the writer, no tears in the reader. No surprise in the writer, no surprise in the reader.” – Robert Frost

A reblogged post from Descending Ascension

loveendlesslyforevermore

My lover draws twine and yarn past my lips.

Threading words through my mind.

Coiling and winding ‘round my neck,

only letting pass words of breadth

My lover lets me liken glass to diamonds,

and forget the time.

Passionate and gentle.

Pulling me into a feverish passion.

Stopping my breath with a single word,

a simple phrase,

a quiet truth,

my lover knows how to look past my ruse.

Each passing moment is spent filled with the emotions evoked by such passions

Turmoil,

Desire,

Sorrow,

Joy.

Caressing me.

Tenderly kissing 

every page of my body.

Sighing my verse.

Let me write our love.

Demanding no physical touch.

Merely heartfelt words,

restraining our touch 

only to be released through the words on this page.

You understand this is my love.

My writings are my lover,

and I it’s suitor.

-R.S.L.S

Written by: Descending Ascension

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Combined History – Her reflections on the past.

“The moment there is suspicion about a person’s motives, everything he does becomes tainted.” – Mahatma Gandhi

bing

The following is an entry from one of my favorite bloggers, Descending Ascension. She presents a raw and uncensored woman’s point of view of a relationship. My favorite line: “For me the thread is very short, but of darker tint. The tint isn’t determined by experience but sentiment and things which taint.” Enjoy…

History of love.

What is love?

Scratch that.

That’s too broad and too narrow to cover right now,

So then,

Let’s talk history.

Your history and mine.

When we decided to be together, our history melted into one intangible net of experience.

Yours and mine and ours.

All those girls, those women, they are a part of me too. I begin to know them in intimate ways, even if they are in the past.

I’m only sorry to say your thread of past is longer than mine.

More women, more girls.

For me the thread is very short,

But of darker tint.

The tint isn’t determined by experience but sentiment and things which taint.

I wear your history wound 5 times around my wrist, while you wear mine upon your pinky.

I ask you questions, you reluctantly answer.

You say nothing, and ask little of me.

Yet you begin to have doubts, and become confused with the physical nature of our intimacy.

I know my questions are biting.

I know my remarks are heart breaking.

Does it break your heart that so shyly I ask to know the truth?

Is your soul pulled at whenever I am patient with your flaws and when I accept them? 

When I let them sting on my cuts, but still love you?

Does it make you love me more?

Am I a consolation prize, second best to your first?

To the special one in your heart?

So it must be, that she too holds a place in my heart, because, remember, your history is also mine.

I wear her around my shoulders while you wrestle with mine.

My history.

My unrequited love.

Is this my patience or unwitting masochism in which I subject myself to heart break and pain so that I don’t feel it by chance or at the hands of vicious lovers?

We seem to have a very odd relationship.

I can never take her away, nor can I ever replace her, just like you will never be him.

I guess the questions we should be asking ourselves are “If we could, would we?”

“If they did, would we?”

Would you take her?

Would I go to him?

Only then can we define ourselves.

What we are.

Yes or no.

Maybe you’ll know my answer someday.

Maybe never.

Just as I will know yours.

-R.S.L.S

Published in her blog: DescendingAscension

Combined History – Her reflections on the past.

“The moment there is suspicion about a person’s motives, everything he does becomes tainted.” – Mahatma Gandhi

bing

The following is an entry from one of my favorite bloggers, Descending Ascension. She presents a raw and uncensored woman’s point of view of a relationship. My favorite line: “For me the thread is very short, but of darker tint. The tint isn’t determined by experience but sentiment and things which taint.” Enjoy…

History of love.

What is love?

Scratch that.

That’s too broad and too narrow to cover right now,

So then,

Let’s talk history.

Your history and mine.

When we decided to be together, our history melted into one intangible net of experience.

Yours and mine and ours.

All those girls, those women, they are a part of me too. I begin to know them in intimate ways, even if they are in the past.

I’m only sorry to say your thread of past is longer than mine.

More women, more girls.

For me the thread is very short,

But of darker tint.

The tint isn’t determined by experience but sentiment and things which taint.

I wear your history wound 5 times around my wrist, while you wear mine upon your pinky.

I ask you questions, you reluctantly answer.

You say nothing, and ask little of me.

Yet you begin to have doubts, and become confused with the physical nature of our intimacy.

I know my questions are biting.

I know my remarks are heart breaking.

Does it break your heart that so shyly I ask to know the truth?

Is your soul pulled at whenever I am patient with your flaws and when I accept them? 

When I let them sting on my cuts, but still love you?

Does it make you love me more?

Am I a consolation prize, second best to your first?

To the special one in your heart?

So it must be, that she too holds a place in my heart, because, remember, your history is also mine.

I wear her around my shoulders while you wrestle with mine.

My history.

My unrequited love.

Is this my patience or unwitting masochism in which I subject myself to heart break and pain so that I don’t feel it by chance or at the hands of vicious lovers?

We seem to have a very odd relationship.

I can never take her away, nor can I ever replace her, just like you will never be him.

I guess the questions we should be asking ourselves are “If we could, would we?”

“If they did, would we?”

Would you take her?

Would I go to him?

Only then can we define ourselves.

What we are.

Yes or no.

Maybe you’ll know my answer someday.

Maybe never.

Just as I will know yours.

-R.S.L.S

Published in her blog: DescendingAscension

Breaking Adolescence: The Prayer Of The Girl

This is a post from a talented young lady who I’ve come to admire for her writings, enjoy.

 

claefer

All I ask for is quiet beauty;

Admiration from men, not fawning over my bosom,

but of my womanly ways.

Let my body not betray me,

to the confinement of a bed-

to my only knowledge being of how to pleasure men.

I hope to keep my face,

open and without tears,

of the foolish kind covered with foundation 

and “ageless” years.

If I become a mother,

I hope not to stay home,

as a prerequisite of marriage,

and until the burying of my bones.

I wish to be free,

please,

let it be.

“Amen..”

-R.S.L.S

Link to original article