Her Imagination

Her imagination keeps calling her.
She tries to put herself in the room.
The hush.
A silence that crackles with electricity.
A stillness that is full of movement.
A quiet that is disturbed by the wild beating of her hungry heart.
His voice. Soft, deep, gentle, compelling. Hypnotic.
His words. His instructions. His control.
Seductive and certain.
His touch. Long fingers cool on her skin.
Running through her hair.
Languid yet definite.
Gorgeous but dangerous.
Pleasure yet pain.
Undressing her.
Peeling her clothes from her.
Discovering every inch of her.
Revealing her soul.
More naked than her body.
She tries to put herself beneath his hands.
Her imagination keeps betraying her.

You voice

You calling my name
Spring, summer, autumn, winter
Embraces my heart.

The Optimists Creed – by Christian D. Larson – 1912

I PROMISE MYSELF

To be so strong that nothing can disturb my peace of mind.

To talk health, happiness, and prosperity to every person I meet.

To make all my friends feel that there is something worthwhile in them.

To look at the sunny side of everything, and make my optimism come true.

To think only of the best, to work only for the best and to expect only the best.

To be just as enthusiastic about the success of others as I am about my own.

To forget the mistakes of the past and press on to the greater achievements of the future.

To wear a cheerful expression at all times and give a smile to every living creature I meet.

To give so much time to improving myself that I have no time to criticize others.

To be too large for worry, too noble for anger, too strong for fear, and too happy to permit the presence of trouble.

To think well of myself and to proclaim this fact to the world, not in loud words, but in great deeds.

To live in the faith that the whole world is on my side, so long as I am true to the best that is in me.

Love

Hearts join, as eyes meet,
Bound together through distance,
Sway in Love’s ardor.

Summer

in summer I sleep
underneath open windows
so my dreams can fly

from me to the moon
across the night sky to you
lovers triangle

Sing to me

Sing to me.
I want to hear your voice
breathe your song
so richly proclaimed
and the harmonies it blends;
glorious, melodious, dissonant.

Speak to me.
I want to wrap my arms
around your words
so eloquently spoken
and such loveliness they hold;
they nourish my heart and my soul.

Come to me.
I want to feel your soul
brush my own
so tenderly touched
and in secret, a whisper;
no one but us shall know.

Closer than lovers

We met almost beyond memory, 

amongst the first hopes, 

possible dreams, and endless days. 

She was long limbed and perfect 

with brown eyes that could search souls. 

Her hair was a wild storm of dark curls 

a sun bleached halo about her lovely head. 

Her smile banished clouds. 

She turned heads and captivated without guile.
Time has been kind, barely thickening her body 

only touching her face with honest lines 

that define her beauty rather than diminish it. 

She has taken on the mantle of age with ease, elegance and grace. 

She still commands a second look from hopeful strangers
We are no longer lovers yet we are much closer than that.
She still wears my ring

Dance

I have said goodbye to them all.
To the woman with the moon in her eyes. 

To every possibility of a lover enchanted by my words. 

To the walled garden, and to temporary friends. 

And to the desk within earshot of buses.It made me think I was in motion when I was not. 

Perhaps it is why I stayed so long. 

Too long.
I drove home with the sun at its highest, 

with the windows open and my guitar on the back seat. 

The wind ran its fingers across my face 

less tenderly than the girl had done 

when she’d lain in my arms for the last time that morning. 

It had been such a lovely evening, such a perfect night. 

It has gone forever.
She did not cry. 

She still believes. 

Yet it is over.
And now, 

I cannot decide if this is the beginning of an end, 

or the end of a beginning.
At the moment it feels like freedom.
I am home. 

With the one who knows me best.
She will dance me to the end of love.

Carry On

Wandering here, I can not stay
Life has become I and I have become life.
Thoughts grow as does a new soul
And though I am too far gone,
One day,
One of us
Will carry on…

Lies

the truth is a lie
repeated year after year
until truth’s the lie

prisms can bend light
just as words can twist the truth
when properly said