Tough Love

“When someone is hard on you it may have very little to do with you.”
― Bryant McGill

Steven Klein

Torrents of disparagement spoil little comforts that came in the soft hands of a woman. In hidden gifts her bounty is made known to searching eyes. Holding nothing but feeling everything, imagination ignites passion’s blaze in the deep recesses of cold homes. With no names and no kisses, a sole burning heat sears lust’s consummation of the unholy matrimony. Were there rings one could understand, were there concern, one could live peaceably, but in the mix of questions and longings, agonies and danger, love exists only in the breath of heavy sighs. Hardened hearts learn to feel through calloused emotion, tenderness never an option unless it leads to satisfaction of an aching in the loins or the soothing of a searching heart.

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Have you ever felt it? – Simple things, simply love

 “The road to finding ‘the one’ is paved with a bit of promiscuity.” – Ryan Erickson

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Have you ever felt it?

I spent hours taking the little sunburned petals from your skin,
removing them ever so carefully, tenderly,

utterly in heaven, a heaven which surely,

the birds are familiar…

Have you ever felt it?

I lose myself in thoughts of you, and me, together

in a slow dance that walks us through the gates of fantasy

all our senses lost in the moment, hearts racing,

minds panting to keep up.

Have you ever felt it?

Bodies moving together, souls floating,

passion shared, in the heat forming a bond

that can never be broken, though you my lover

are very, very far away.

Have you ever felt it?

11192011

 

Endless Sky – An Intimate Encounter –

“I knew myself no longer. My original soul seemed, at once, to take its flight from my body; and a more than fiendish malevolence, gin-nurtured, thrilled every fibre of my frame.” – Edgar Allan Poe, The Black Cat 

shemakesdirty-wordssoundpretty

I lit the coals with yearning, 

deeper than times sand.

I stoke them with nature’s trinkets

Mischievous I take yourhand.

Tender violence my guide
Bringing you to passions door
The flames burn hot and long
We consummate the lore 

Fighting to feel not wanting to resist
Together in universal rhythm we tread 
Heat of friction driving your desire
Caught in throes, an endless sky our bed 

Tied with bonds of forbidden
Bringing creation to savor the burst,
I find you my sweet fragrance
Satiated with passions thirst.  

Scarlet silk creates your hidden visage
Tide of lust breaking ground in blurs
Flamed tongues burn hot and long
Embracing you a yearning stirs 

Air controlled by a strangled grip
Crashing through passions door
Leaving you shaking in pleasure
Gliding on weakened wings we soar

Pain creates a direction to edges new
When again on those heights we tread 
Let the torrid heat drive our desire high
Caught in throes, an endless sky our bed05152013

Related post: Holy Sanctum

Also published in Broowaha Magazine

First published in Opinionsofeye.com01262012 

Good Morning – A royal awakening for a lover –

“I was dead until you found me, though I breathed. I was sightless, though I could see. And then you came…and I was awakened.” ― J.R. Ward, Lover Awakened

Alas, she wakens with breath so sweet that all words long to be formed by her delicious lips. What better way to both live and die than in the mouth of one so delectable…soon I’ll follow them into your caves of pleasure…I find all paths of your perfumed delight leading to home….

I know what will take you from the nether regions of rest my love, I need but spend an hour with your body that responds with eagerness against my flicks of hunger and your passion will run on this beard, while your legs struggle to support the reality that you have not gone to heaven yet, you only visited there by my invitation…

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First published in Opinions Of Eye.com

Love In Hiding – Why is love so evasive?

“Maybe it’s just hiding somewhere. Or gone on a trip to come home. But falling in love is always a pretty crazy thing. It might appear out of the blue and just grab you. Who knows — maybe even tomorrow.” – Haruki Murakami, Sputnik Sweetheart

hop3lessdreamers

Why is love so evasive? It hides behind impossibilities. Dancing around dashed hopes and crushed dreams, it laughs, seemingly immune. Attempts to force its hand are met with indifference. It scoffs at the futility of such manipulations. It can appear dead, then, resurrect itself in spite of all logical resistance. Contrary to reason, it brings to madness the mind of the genius. Delighting in the bafflement of its adversaries, it raises strong arms to show defiance of prediction. Having disarmed reason and logic it takes the journey into sweet insanity, a wandering exploration through places beyond imagination. Struck with its seduction, a mere touch becomes a fire of uncontrolled passion. A whisper transforms itself into an echo that continues long after the source had taken its leave. Having then all power held in suspension at its will, surely the proverb is true, “now abide faith, hope, and love. But the greatest of these is love.” I would have to agree, and that is the reason for love’s evasiveness – it is because it can.

Also published in Broowaha
Also published in Wingposse

10252011

Malevolent – The Illusion of Freedom

“When she’s abandoned her moral center and teachings…when she’s cast aside her facade of propriety and lady-like demeanor…when I have so corrupted this fragile thing and brought out a writhing, mewling, bucking, wanton whore for my enjoyment and pleasure…..enticing from within this feral lioness…growling and scratching and biting…taking everything I dish out to her…..at that moment she is never more beautiful to me. ”
― Marquis de Sade

“All the dark, malevolent Passions of the Soul are roused and exerted; its mild and amiable affections are suppressed; and with them, virtuous Principles are laid prostrate.” – Charles Inglis

tassiasete

Malevolent is my lovers name,

holding her passions lust near pain

Never to light again let them be,

in the open choices of wills release

Fiery and soft though her affections seem,

her subtlety controls the whole of me

With touches sharp and pleasures same,

malevolent creates her wily game

Obscuring with intangible moves,

binding me with hemp that soothes

The illusion of freedom is her claim,

free will held with the surest chains

Malevolent from your sultry kiss I turn,

hard lessons taught but never learned 

06082012

Malevolent – The Illusion of Freedom

“When she’s abandoned her moral center and teachings…when she’s cast aside her facade of propriety and lady-like demeanor…when I have so corrupted this fragile thing and brought out a writhing, mewling, bucking, wanton whore for my enjoyment and pleasure…..enticing from within this feral lioness…growling and scratching and biting…taking everything I dish out to her…..at that moment she is never more beautiful to me. ”
― Marquis de Sade

“All the dark, malevolent Passions of the Soul are roused and exerted; its mild and amiable affections are suppressed; and with them, virtuous Principles are laid prostrate.” – Charles Inglis

tassiasete

Malevolent is my lovers name,

holding her passions lust near pain

Never to light again let them be,

in the open choices of wills release

Fiery and soft though her affections seem,

her subtlety controls the whole of me

With touches sharp and pleasures same,

malevolent creates her wily game

Obscuring with intangible moves,

binding me with hemp that soothes

The illusion of freedom is her claim,

free will held with the surest chains

Malevolent from your sultry kiss I turn,

hard lessons taught but never learned 

06082012

The Emperor’s Katana – Lessons from the master craftsman

“ignis aurum probat, miseria fortes homines”, “as gold is tempered by fire, so strong men are tempered by suffering”.

skywing12

He took the metal, valuable and unique, and laid it in the fire. With an innate passion watching it, until the hue was just right, the color of heat, moving as storm cloud over the plain of the metal. Lightning strikes and thunder claps induced by his worn sledge shouted changes to nature, destroying the original form. In a violent move, calling out the tempest, he plunged it into the muddy water, clouded with ash and clay, a chaotic mix of elements, ugly in their application, wondrous in their result. Angry steam rose, the steel yelling at the breaking of its will, a will formed by nature, broken by the same. Fire and water, opposites, yet being used together to create a new thing, taking their turns as catalysts, creating beauty and power unsurpassed by the ordinary, waiting for their turn in the flames. Thousands of times, the process, the rhythm of breaking down, bending, melding, heating, were repeated, shocking it, breaking it from the apathetic staleness of commonality. The old man smiled and, in his careful hands, the metal changed, growing finer in composition, growing closer to its’ polished destiny as the Emperor’s Katana.

Accepting the opposites in my life, the fire and water of pain and joy, allows me transformation. My life changed by them from an ordinary, dull life of discord, into a life of gleaming beauty, purpose, and fulfillment. The trials, the pain, the joys and successes, I will let them have their way, not fighting what will bring me to completion. My destiny, wholly original and amazing, a rare and exquisite life, being declared as the Emperor’s Katana.

Also published in Broowaha Magazine

12212011

Death Of Our Seed – Death throes of love

“The flowers anew, returning seasons bring! 

But beauty faded has no second spring.”
– Ambrose Philips

“Would that I were a dry well, and that the people tossed stones into me, for that would be easier than to be a spring of flowing water that the thirsty pass by, and from which they avoid drinking.” – Kahlil Gibran

Image Credit: altitudinarian

I wander, looking, not feeling. Experiencing but remembering nothing. The taste is gone, bland are the fire scorched courses of your love. I wander around the echoing rooms of passions castle, like a spider hunting in the sedentary atmosphere, catching my supply and watching the inactivity with many points of view. My meandering desire leads me to other lands; stepping on the thorns of my morality, my feet are hesitant to find the new, knowing it violates the old. Satisfaction, though fleeting, is found in errant trysts. Excuses are easy to make when I am dilapidated; rotten and broken like the old planks in the floor. Shoving the rusted door of our haven, the hinges squeal in loud eery cries, giving up their life in broken protest; they can no longer bear the lack of attention. Revelations are born in tense moments, your eyes meet mine and the truth wants to be spoken, yet remains hidden; these are haunting times. Lovers find it hard to pull the trap door on the hangman’s rig; to see their intimacy in death throes, struggling at the end of the rope of boredom. The sun rises, a strong wind blows, a storm is coming; it hits hard and washes away the mementos of years, bringing relief. Nature does what I loath to do, destroying the useless and dangling appendages of a dead love, giving birth to hope on the dry and barren paths. In this newness I linger, amazed at what comes from the death of love; like the death of a seed, it breaks the hardened ground with fingers of new passion, restoring my faith and blinding me again with lust unconfined and unexplored.

Also published in Broowaha Citizen Magazine

Death Of Our Seed – Death throes of love

“The flowers anew, returning seasons bring! 

But beauty faded has no second spring.”
– Ambrose Philips

“Would that I were a dry well, and that the people tossed stones into me, for that would be easier than to be a spring of flowing water that the thirsty pass by, and from which they avoid drinking.” – Kahlil Gibran

Image Credit: altitudinarian

I wander, looking, not feeling. Experiencing but remembering nothing. The taste is gone, bland are the fire scorched courses of your love. I wander around the echoing rooms of passions castle, like a spider hunting in the sedentary atmosphere, catching my supply and watching the inactivity with many points of view. My meandering desire leads me to other lands; stepping on the thorns of my morality, my feet are hesitant to find the new, knowing it violates the old. Satisfaction, though fleeting, is found in errant trysts. Excuses are easy to make when I am dilapidated; rotten and broken like the old planks in the floor. Shoving the rusted door of our haven, the hinges squeal in loud eery cries, giving up their life in broken protest; they can no longer bear the lack of attention. Revelations are born in tense moments, your eyes meet mine and the truth wants to be spoken, yet remains hidden; these are haunting times. Lovers find it hard to pull the trap door on the hangman’s rig; to see their intimacy in death throes, struggling at the end of the rope of boredom. The sun rises, a strong wind blows, a storm is coming; it hits hard and washes away the mementos of years, bringing relief. Nature does what I loath to do, destroying the useless and dangling appendages of a dead love, giving birth to hope on the dry and barren paths. In this newness I linger, amazed at what comes from the death of love; like the death of a seed, it breaks the hardened ground with fingers of new passion, restoring my faith and blinding me again with lust unconfined and unexplored.

Also published in Broowaha Citizen Magazine