For is the love of love itself not a confusion, A disarray of synapses, receiving tiny bolts of information That make us believe a familiarity, of sorts, can give way To a rumbling inside that can barely be contained.
But how can this be?
The intensity rises with every thought, Mouth-watering passion, so thick in the air, you can taste it. I can smell you, kiss you, taste you, breathe you, swallow you… Surely this is not merely a figment, or a chemical imbalance.
Do we ever truly love?
The overwhelming need to bond, and retain our feet on solid ground, Makes one forget that life is more than babbling babes and blue balls It is adventure; the glance of a flame-haired beauty, across the bar A piece of silk floating in the window of the forgotten hotel room.
So, what is love, love?
Love is the salty taste of your lips after a run. It’s the gentle strength of your hand against my cheek. The softness of your touch when you part my thighs. It is the warmth of your smile when you lose yourself in thought. The fullness of your laughter when you can’t contain your amusement. It is the depth of our souls intertwining, time and time again. But love is also knowing how to let go when our time is up, Just to welcome you back in tender embrace, every time you return. Love is knowing that I am yours, beyond convention and expectation. It is knowing that you are mine, and that I hold the key to your heart. Even if no one else will ever know, and we are forever worlds apart.
Ephemeral emerald iridescence Envelops the fragility of your oblong form Barely seen, a flutter of translucent wings Surrenders your position, caught in a ray of light Enticed by the Succubus, like a moth to a flame
Your many eyes see beyond her carnal shell Contemplating the woes of the disconnected Shimmering belonging, you glisten in the sun Of the one you love, now, then, and tomorrow Until the cycle starts anew; a natural order Reborn from the cold, dark, depths of the pond.
Remote locations Ignite and unfurl deep passions, As Pele and Kamapua’a Bear witness, shedding tears of joy.
Feasting on energies, Primordial and long forgotten. The Succubus Lilith devours Humble servants of the flesh In resolute embrace.
Up, down, beneath, above Through and through Bodies intertwining Beyond understanding. A tapestry of lust, Woven by Arachne herself.
The echo of desperation: A hand longing to grasp Harder… Harder. Harder!
((((((((( Resonates )))))))))
Through soft pine like Hephaestus’ thundering blow.
Warm breaths on soft skin Cries forever lost in a pillow Beating hearts, Trying to rip themselves From their carnal shells.
Symphonic melodies give way To carnal compositions Orchestrated by Pan, Playing the body of Syrinx In the form of a flute. Plaintive gasps and tortured cries, Frozen in time, forever… Only relieved by the echo of our love.
I haven’t felt human in a long time to the point where I’ve doubted having blood running through my veins A search for meaning in hard substances and things devoid of substance in cold sheets and soft embraces… But I’ve discovered myself, deep down, where no one wants to go a profound understanding of the duality that runs through my veins It isn’t blood that pumps into my heart but also Magic… Things yearned and learned from Goddesses past, and mothers of the earth, creators of life and all things. Like all humans, I doubt my humanity, for what does it mean to be Human in the first place?
Occasionally when floating on my boat of dreams, I become aware of the nebulous sea of regret rippling under my vessel. Am I living in a constant state of denial, Or am I simply appreciative of better times?
Occasionally my smile crisps itself into a stone line, And my thoughts race back to another side of my mortal reality. Am I just another memory to one of my memories, Or am I flesh and bone that can be touched?
Occasionally I hear the pitter patter of the rain on a tin roof, And it brings me back to a long ago place I once knew. Am I sure the sensory appreciation is real, Or am I simply a projection of a non-existent former self?
Occasionally I feel the weight of the world on my shoulders, And it seeps down into my hidden soul. Am I truly awake and aware of my existence, Or am I merely dreaming…
This is a non-erotic poem, written in February of 2017.
emerging from the clouds the energy boy peers below the clear layers of existence, tiny hearts beating he understands why others break the rule to observe to document don't do it, they say never shifting yet here he stands, frenetic scribbling desperately deciphering their erratic thoughts and unnerving actions he cries, remembering how it felt to be human