love – Letters For My Lovers

Becoming You

sometimes I wish
I could paint my feelings
like Picasso painted his portraits
inaccurate renditions of
something so beyond our reach
that mortal eyes falter
intricacies unbeknownst

to say “I love you”
would be an affront to the universe
for love, as a disarray of synapses
pales in the face of
the void of my feelings

a pull deeper than the tides,
a light, brighter than a harvest moon
a delicacy sweeter than honey;
reality infused with
more magic than witchcraft

days merge and blend
swirling into a steady lifetime
of morning smiles
and afternoon delights
your love, like a community garden
overflows with abundance
a cornucopia of simple being
upon which I gratefully feast

Contained

i yearn
to feel contained
within the safety of your arms,
like a thousand bronze statues
your musculature dances
scrutinized by eons of longing

your hand
so harsh in its love
reddens my skin,
closes gently on my throat
the ultimate safety contained
within your grasp
i can feel the weight
of a million worlds
tickle my soul
as i lose myself
in the nothing and the everything
that is the space within my stars

sometimes,
you make love to me
gently, slowly,
a million kisses painting my skin
languishing in the pleasure
becomes a painful
expression of desperation
contained by muffled cries
othertimes,
our lovemaking
becomes a primal exercise
of fire and passion
my will matters not
and i lose myself
in the fury of your love

like our story
our love is boundless
fleeting,
eternal,
ephemeral,
all at once constant
and ever-changing;
we are fluid as water
and solid as stone
a curious contentment
of freedom and fancy

within our love
insanity becomes reason
and marks on thighs
become war paints of passion
i could lose myself forever
because i know i’ll
always be contained
within the safety of your arms.

Patience

I am no longer a volcano.
I am a seething rage of cool existence;
a deep burn, one that ignites the soul.

A liberating flurry of flames,
destroying all to better begin anew.
Two steps ahead of the phoenix,
I’ve already planted the seeds
to help my inner-world flourish.

I am no longer at your mercy,
but gently pressing
against the walls of my own being.
Reappropriation is like laughter:
it bounces off walls,
and its imperceptible power
fills your heart with joy;
a glitter bomb
exploding in your soul.

A Universe unto myself
my expansion is continuous.
I’ve set my mind free
and let the cage of my past
dissolve like ashes in the wind.

I can taste the colours again,
soak up the love in their eyes,
savour the silence…
dance ’till I drop,
scream at the top of my lungs,
fall into passionate embrace,
let my heavy eyes rest,
and do it all over tomorrow.

I can feel the lead of a pencil
sigh as I press down onto paper,
feel the temperature of colours
when they meet, swirl and mix;
and the words trickle like dewdrops,
as they roll off the pages of my mind.

I now remember
the untarnished power
of finding beauty in the now,
the stars, the sun, the wind;
and the radiant smiles
of those who populate my world.

Strange Times

Dear readers,

No matter where you may be in the world, chances are, we can currently relate to each other’s feelings.

Let’s be blunt: this shit is scary. I can personally admit that having a global pandemic, with the rampant fear-mongering and misinformation that has accompanied it, is, for many many reasons, as close to my living nightmare as any situation could get.

The world is grinding to a halt, and hundreds of thousands, if not millions of people will die worldwide. Millions of people will lose their jobs, and world economies as we know them may very well collapse. The list goes on… Many things are going to change, and the truth is that we don’t really know what the post-pandemic world is going to look like; many people have predictions, some more realistic than others, but right now we’re helplessly floating around in the giant sea of the unknown, and I know many of us feel totally and utterly lost.

I can’t speak for what will change in the upcoming months and years, but I can surmise that one very real thing won’t change: Us. Humans, living, breathing members of the Homo sapiens sapiens species. The inherent elements that bind us together as a species and have kept our societies running since the dawn of our era: love, compassion, understanding, passion, curiosity, solidarity, and all them incredible things that make us so unique.

We will continue loving one another, appreciating the little things in life, like the ring of someone’s laughter in our ears, the warmth that we feel in another’s smile, the burning desire when we hold our lover close. We will continue inspiring one another to keep on keeping on, to continue creating and appreciating art, music, creativity in whatever form it takes on for you. We will continue being present for those who matter the most in our lives, because that’s what life is really about, love and friendship, and partnership, and appreciation, and sharing all of those incredible things we so often struggle to put into words.

I, for one, will keep on creating and sharing my poetry and stories with the world because it’s my way of staying sane and keeping my life moving forward without giving into the total and utter panic that washes over me in waves.

You are not alone, we are not alone. We can weather this storm together, as societies, and as a species, and come out wiser on the other side. So let’s all take a moment to appreciate the little things and share some love (within reasonable social distancing measures, of course 😉).

And if you would like me to write a poem about a specific topic, or have a fun writing exercise you’d like to try with me, please shoot me an email at info@lilithember.com, and I will be happy to oblige. I will be writing from the comfort of my Love Nest, featured as the image of this article.

In love, lust, and solidarity,

Lilith. 🖤

Missteries

It’s a knock on the door,
the turn of a key in a lock;
a click of a dress shoe’s heel;
checkered socks on dark hardwood

It’s a kiss on the cheek,
the whiff of sweet perfume
on the nape of a neck;
gentle passions burning,
aflame like a candle’s wick

It’s the heat of a hand,
rough fingers extending;
the warmth of a sigh;
a shudder of anticipation
waiting for a breath

It’s the thump of a heart,
beads of delight dripping
onto softly parted lips;
eager moans beckoning,
the deepening of eternity.

Bring Me Back

The perfect drizzle
defines the line between today and tomorrow
A morose specimen,
far too endearing to share with our peers
peers out of its receptacle;
a chill destroys its resolve
“if only pigs could fly,
then I’d get myself out of this darned mess.”
It thinks, unwillingly.

The home of a collector
is not to be taken lightly
on days where the sun’s power dwindles
and the comings of months of death
appear on the horizon.

One step at a time,
it creeps, occasionally lurching
towards a white cover of bliss.
Brought back to the silence
of a city’s breath drawn again
when a cloak of winter descends
leaving everything amiss.

At times, when the sea of stars seems
to lose itself in the vastness of the night
I’ve often longed to hear crisp footsteps,
ones I’ve dreamt of ad-nauseam;
despite the harsh and cruel winter,
they echo the sound of my love’s path
finally finding its way back
into the warmth of my tender embrace.

Fabricated Sorrow

What is it, about being a woman
that drives us, to feel lust
nay, neediness, longing, expectations
of the opposite sex
to WANT, to need, to succumb
to loving us?

It’s like taking the first hit;
wanting every moment
to inevitably feel like the next.
A drug of the heart, a survivalist’s wet dream,
suddenly the nightmare of the other.

I loathe the void I’ve created
within the absence you’ve brought;
the coward who parades around
as a hearty lion, navy suit astounding
the driver of slumber long deceased
brought back to life in a dusty dream.

Nothing is everything,
it all resonates like bass hitting a temple
wishing for change, but unwilling to understand;
the dance slowly dies
as the reality of one love lost
bites the dust, of poetic abstinence.

Heed a lonely cry, in the distance
a single ring on a finger
symbolism of something so untrue
it might as well be dead.

I’ll die too young
to see the fruition of your honesty.

September and I

Life is crisp in the fall;
transformative times of leaves and tea
a cozy mess of understanding and love
where blue skies meet orange ents
and wasps formerly flew up mountains.

The greenery seems to take on
a hue of gold and hydromel,
beckoning the old gods to come forth
and sip from her offerings.

Seasonal fruits lose their passion
and brutish cucurbits resurface in troves
eager to potage their way
into hungry city-dweller’s lives.

From the inside of my glass cage,
nothing seems all that different:
the sun’s rays hit me in all the same places
but when the doors open again,
the wind will no longer be warm.

Absences & Influences

An absence of the mind,
brings thoughtful possessions
of dancing tongues
to a staggering halt
at the foot of a mountain.

A mountain of emotions,
so steep and slippery and tall
one might as well be swallowing soap
and trying to fly upwards
floating atop bubbles of bile.

An influence of the Universe,
vast and fearless in her knowledge
pushes Lilith to move on, evermore
beyond understanding and will,
she cries and begs it all to stop.

A peaceful anguish in knowing nothing,
desperately searching for meaning
in the heart ache and the projection
of loved ones gone and forgotten,
Lilith stands alone, once more, forever.

Mind Over Matter

How does one love?

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.

We are love, love.

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