Your words whisper in my ear. Your voice does things to me That haven’t been felt in years.
My heart races My insides quicken I want to hear more
I listen when I’m alone To be safe from disturbance. I listen while at work In hopes that no one notices The reaction your whisper creates. I listen before I sleep at night; You’re the last thing I want to hear.
Blow by blow, your words hit deep. The aching and longing are no strangers to me But nothing else does it justice, Not like they deserve. Nothing can explain Or perfectly portray These feelings the same way.
the sun glitters atop a river’s bend the breeze softly lifts a single leaf, soaring above the river, between the trees
slowly it goes,
for a moment everything pauses, animals stop to turn, stunned by radiance amongst the greenery
a rare moment of silence,
of peace, of joy,
produced at exactly the right time
and I’d like to think
that when others look upon us
with our hearts in tune,
they too will rejoice in the quiet sunshine
of the peace, joy, and love
of how deep it runs,
how wide it flows,
how everything it touches glows
You call for less words, less distraction, to sink yourself further. But do you realize the sensuality of your words fuels this flame? How without them this connection wouldn’t exist?
Cut the words? I say keep them coming,
stack them higher and higher.
Not to the point that a wall divides us,
but a tower that we’ve built together,
one that others stop to gaze upon.
Let’s both receive a piece of the dream: exhale your epic words over the valley between my thighs, while fingertips explore, reading every inch like pages of braille; string kisses around my neck while peppering verses; tell me the source of your inspiration.
Let’s write the story of our lives; how every moment we’ve longed to be in this space, mere inches away. And here we are: tongues dipped in verse and exchanged across a sea of sweat.
I wake to the sound of him
pinging my phone.
It’s too early for
bright-eyed longing stares
to the love of my life
as my eyes burn from
the phone’s bright light.
With eyes barely opened,
I reach over to tell him
“Good morning, my love.”
He sends his love in return
and I feel his love beating
through my chest from across the pond.
How his smile awakens every
nerve in my body, how it eases
every ache that arises as my body
shifts. If I lie here long enough
to soak in his beaming smile it’ll
surely eradicate the piercing forming
through every extremity.
Tender love is our medicine,
taken in various doses throughout
the day to coast along a high plateau.
And in this moment, our morning routine
of enchanting greetings and air kisses,
it’s exactly what we need.
She wants to be who she is.
She wants to feel loved for who she is,
And who she wants to become.
She doesn’t want to feel guilty to feel needed.
She wants to feel beautiful.
She wants to feel strong.
She wants to feel like she belongs.
But if belonging means to solely coexist,
To feel like another piece of the scenery,
Then she doesn’t want to be anywhere remotely near it.
She wants to have romantic love.
A wish on her last days should not be to feel more loved,
But rather to have more days to spend with the one she loves.
Talk to me like I am the reason you breathe.
Talk to me like I am why you rise in the morning.
Talk to me like I am the last thing you want to see before you sleep.
Tell me I’m your everything.
And then show me, prove to me, that there’s no doubt in the world otherwise.
Tell me, because a woman needs to know.
And tell me authentically.
Don’t pour sugar over a salty wound thinking it will heal, only time and tenderness will do.
bore from the most arduous labor, its intoxicating fruit, its sweet blossoming fragrance, pulls in the strongest of hearts. as a vine snakes its way through the depths of a luscious secret garden, distinct impressions produce the richest aromas. even to an untrained eye, the sweetest honey couldn’t go unnoticed.
the sweetest honey couldn’t go unnoticed; even to an untrained eye, the richest aromas produce distinct impressions. a luscious secret garden snakes its way through the depths as a vine pulls in the strongest of hearts. its sweet blossoming fragrance, its intoxicating fruit bore from the most arduous labor.