heart has awoken

She is the mystical everything.

Goddess under sun and moon.

All the stars wishing to be her lover.

She is my muse with scars.

I know her heart, her dreams,

the broken, splintered bones

in the closets of her mind.

She knows the times I have tasted death.

The acts of desperation.

The moments of salvation found

in the eye of the storm.

Our love is based on these truths

and understandings.

As I sit across from her,

gazing into her dilated pupils

that reflect the flickering flames.

I am hypnotized.

Our hearts swell and pound with love and lust.

The energy we emit cause the flames to leap.

She knows my breath, hands, and lips

The way they feel upon her body.

I know how to send warmth, electricity,

along veins and nerves

making her body writhe.

Pleasure her in ways that only someone,

who has been her lover

in each of her incarnations could.

I'm driven into a frenzy by the scent of her neck.

Her exquisite velveteen skin.

The way her body turns from a slow, deep burning flame,

into an uncontrollable bonfire.

She is aroused by the way I moan and breathe

like a hungry, desirous, wild thing.

When her flesh becomes my flesh −−

my heart becomes her heart.

We become a single incandescent entity.

In sleep we still seek each other.

Various images of adoration and eroticism

find their way into our dreams,

burning themselves into the backs of our eyelids

so each time we close our eyes they can be seen.

A poem from my book, The Unimaginable City. Now available at amazon

soft flesh, beautiful world

Soft lights and lingering smoke.

Her nakedness is bewitching.

Her pure form the only thing I want to see.

Eyes, soft with warmth and love, gaze into mine.

I see in them the stars. I see in them her blues.

I see in them her truest self.

Those lips, my forbidden fruit.

Her elegant neck carries the scent

which causes me to become aroused.

She has the small feminine shoulders of Ms. Monroe

Elegant arms marked by a butterfly on the right

her heart on the left.

A heart, the edges of which I have traced with my fingertips

whose pulse I have felt beneath my lips,

whose invisible scars I have had against my tongue.

Her breasts are perfect complimentary opposites.

The softness of flesh like springtime life.

Nipples, perfect dusky jewels. Hard when embraced by my lips.

Her stomach smooth but goose pimpled when my fingers brush.

Swollen with child in my dreams.

Hips, bone and skin, with the curve of wondrous femininity.

The magnificent pear-plum.

The skin of which is covered in soft dark hairs.

Its succulence and sweet juices,

quench my thirst, but leave me desiring more.

Thighs, supple, perfectly formed,

grow taut when gripped by my hands.

Her small, girlish knees, that I tickle with the hairs of my beard.

Calves that fit perfectly from palm the fingertips when I take hold

in order to elevate leg and kiss each perfect toe.

This gorgeous body is in my bed.

Mine to pleasure and possess until sunrise.

From outside the gypsy moon tries

to peek through drawn blinds at our sensual acts of love.

Taking place on upon white sheets

with pink and rust colored blossoms

from when we consummated out love in a time of blood.

Between broken bits of conversation

and declarations of love eternal and in the moment,

our hands and mouths seek each other.

Displays of passion. Eroticism.

Bringing each other to orgasm more times

than either of us or the moon thought possible.

Her eyes and mine, lost in satiated lover's gaze

grow soft with sleep.

But neither of us wants to drift,

so we can exist in this moment forever,

so we can drown together in this magic.