There was this time,
I wanted her,
she looked my way,
I imagined how we might,
find our way,
a stretch would indicate a desire,
or perhaps only a need for comfort
beyond the alluring eyes of
For that is my design,
I am that set of eyes,
lustful and wanting,
wishing somehow she might
acknowledge or rather …
For a smile is always a lovely occasion.
in that we recognize beyond the physical pleasures,
there is a softness,
one meant to be honored,
yet, so often in the throes of our personal passions,
we forget to take homage in their own gentle offerings.
we attach sacrifice,
to suggest she is meant to be privileged,
at the expense of man,
without realizing her own contributions,
are meant to be the truth,
not a fantasy,
but a spiritual guidance in the heart of all Man.
I know she is beautiful,
and I relish the opportunity to tell her so,
when in her eyes, I see magic, I see the sunrise,
and I do as evening pulls often feel the sunset,
in her demeanor when a peace,
a needed vacation from all of the torment,
might become her personal homage.
I see her.
Man loves a woman, smiles,
her eyes sparkle,
a stir, sweet gasp.
Man wants to hold her, gently,
he defends her honor.
Man loves a woman
a fire within his body ignites,
A man feels a woman’s love,
she is unable,
he feels tears forever, his own.
A man hears a woman tell of love,
she cries the same.
Man loves a woman,
a woman loves a man.
When a younger man,
I had these notions about love,
seemed to me,
the word could manifest itself,
in a red bikini laying next to me on a beach near a man-made lake.
At fourteen, I could see her nipples through the sheer fabric,
the lower garment-like a drape,
covering some aspect of woman
I would later only cherish as my spiritual mecca.
But I’ll never forget her breasts in red velvet,
at least that was my impression,
a hot summer day,
my erection buried in the sand.
See the reality is I was afraid to look,
and yet she was delighted to feel so beautiful,
to know eyes would glance,
and all I wanted to do was
just tell her,
just find the right words to suggest how wonderful
she made me feel,
buried in the sand in a safe sort of adolescent scream.
When I was a younger man,
I began to love woman,
not women, but the essence of her being,
and I would imagine the travels,
my lips, my fingertips,
my journey to bring only pleasure to her eyes,
with my head buried in the sand.
I think there is a reality we all imagine,
when simple is sufficient,
we sort of bowl over the remainder,
the mystery of being.
If to suggest lives matter,
is it as important to recognize honesty
attached to our integrity,
or are facades the true meaning.
We must be conscious how lost
begins the circle of unwarranted deceit
when lacking in interpretation,
the eyes need offer swift hesitation.
While further the exploration
begins to parlay the genuine nature,
in a gradual manner
speaks idly of conscious respect.
Oh, for my words do matter,
so careful I am to avoid such hindrance,
creates a vacuum in the greater schematic
playground of our heedless humanity.
Oh it is a harsh reality I speak of today,
rather than soft colors and accentuated melody,
I would that my broken heart might say,
how much I do truly love her sweet deity.
In ancient verse a fond escape we choose,
to lose our own reality of course as concept.
We might rather think to openly amuse
than face the truth we can no longer accept.
In knowing love, I did forever touch eternity
in her grace, sweet smile, a tear in eye I mellow
to the innocence of truth she display in civility,
while I the man, demand and certain do bellow.
I found myself today standing at the edge of time,
knowing that I took for granted her love, sublime.