SHE LOCKS GAZES WITH YOUR SOUL THROUGH OCULAR IMPERFECTION THAT MAKES HER PERFECT.
SIMILAR TO A SIREN, BUT THROUGH CRYSTAL CLEAR EYE CONTACT, SHE'LL CARRY YOU ON A GAZE THAT HARMONIZES AND REVERBERATES OUT TUNES THAT IGNITE TANGO FLOORS AND CREATE DANCE REVOLUTIONS WITH SKIN SOAKED SWEAT SEDUCTION.
IN A RETINAL TUG-O-WAR, SHE ALWAYS WINS...
THERES REALLY NO FIGHTING SUCH BEAUTIFUL SEDUCTION, AND IN THE JUNCTION OF THESE TWO STAR CHASING PUMAS YOU FIND THE BIRTHPLACE OF WHAT PASSION IS ALL ABOUT AND POWER IN REVELATION GAMES OF LUST WRAPPED LUNACY....
ALL MERGED PERFECTLY IN A 12 INCH LOVE SONG...
I FOUND THAT WE EXIST THERE, IN THAT FIELD OF ENERGY WE CREATE BY BRUSHING HANDS AND MATCHING HEART BEATS IN A GEOGRAPHIC EXPLORATION OF EACH OTHERS TERRAINS,
AND YES I COULD MAP HER.
IN 3 NIGHTS I COULD TOPOGRAPHICALLY TIPTOE WITH LASER PRECISION OVER FLAWLESS SKIN TRANSITIONS AND TONGUE TIP LIP AROUSED BODY POSITIONS…
SHE IS PRESENT AND DRINKS IN MY EVERY WORD AS IF SIPPING FROM THE CUP OF LIFE...
SHE DOESN'T JUST SOAK IN MY GLOW, SHE ABSORBS IT WITH TENACITY AND CREATES AN ATOMIC FLARE IN OUR UNION,
AND WE UNITE AND IGNITE PHYSICAL TORCHES IN NO SMOKING ZONES AND SET SPACE ON FIRE AS WE BURN IT UP...
SHE LITERALLY CLIMBS WALLS AS IF TRYING TO SUMMIT THE SECONDS WE SPEND TOGETHER SEARCHING FOR HAND HOLDS IN EACH OTHERS PLIABLE DESIRE..
HER SKIN…
SKIN HAS NEVER BEEN SO SMOOTH.... SHE IS THE SILK SPUN MANIFESTATION OF WHAT CAN ONLY BE COMPARED TO HYPNOTIC ECSTASY.... WHERE TOUCHING HER MAKES YOUR HANDS FEEL GIFTED FOR BEING IN HER BODIES PRESENCE…....
…I WONDER WHERE SHE WENT?..:
Moments with Perfection
"Write about why you love me," She said, so, I tried...... .
There is a depth in you that resonates in every aspect of my existence and facet of my soul..
How do you describe that?.....
You inspire me with 6 year old humming and your tiny crossed feet swinging to the non-stop rhythm in your heart and soul that bubbles out through your amazing imagination and brilliance of your emotional and mental awareness....
how do you describe that?
You smile for me and make my soul giggle!
We play the "I love you" game, and it's always a draw!!
You are the tiny personification of everything that inspires children' novels...
Why do I love you?...
How do you describe that?
There aren't enough words in all languages to come close to explaining why I love you......
Just know that I do, and always will...your my angel
and
everything that is wonderful about my life!
......How could I possibly describe that?!
There is a depth in you that resonates in every aspect of my existence and facet of my soul..
How do you describe that?.....
You inspire me with 6 year old humming and your tiny crossed feet swinging to the non-stop rhythm in your heart and soul that bubbles out through your amazing imagination and brilliance of your emotional and mental awareness....
how do you describe that?
You smile for me and make my soul giggle!
We play the "I love you" game, and it's always a draw!!
You are the tiny personification of everything that inspires children' novels...
Why do I love you?...
How do you describe that?
There aren't enough words in all languages to come close to explaining why I love you......
Just know that I do, and always will...your my angel
and
everything that is wonderful about my life!
......How could I possibly describe that?!
Shes a girl like you'd expect..
sharp nails, soft touch..beautiful smile, and even better smile eyes..
She would seem shy if not for her glow,
...70 m.p.h. with the top down on a clear, windy, hilly, California road at midnight is a magical time to share secrets with stars, or, marvel at her in my lap as if the world didn't exist...
She has that ability you see, to disappear in plain sight..only in her power the world fades away and the only thing in center observation is passion...
her bite is deep as is her desire to satisfy,
hours of beautiful attempts make late reminders for her that just being there is satisfaction enough.......
she can consume souls with her presence and gift you with power in her growl...
This girl has a kitty-hawk persona and the case work for a deviant from the common...
she exposes herself to the unexpected world who's eyes are bloodshot and unblinking.....and....
She is naked...I gotta go!
sharp nails, soft touch..beautiful smile, and even better smile eyes..
She would seem shy if not for her glow,
...70 m.p.h. with the top down on a clear, windy, hilly, California road at midnight is a magical time to share secrets with stars, or, marvel at her in my lap as if the world didn't exist...
She has that ability you see, to disappear in plain sight..only in her power the world fades away and the only thing in center observation is passion...
her bite is deep as is her desire to satisfy,
hours of beautiful attempts make late reminders for her that just being there is satisfaction enough.......
she can consume souls with her presence and gift you with power in her growl...
This girl has a kitty-hawk persona and the case work for a deviant from the common...
she exposes herself to the unexpected world who's eyes are bloodshot and unblinking.....and....
She is naked...I gotta go!
She was a "name in lights" broadway walking dame that clicked 4 inch heels and swayed like there was a soundtrack to her stroll....
"I wish somebody would write something beautiful about me."
.... She was bold and sang her tune in a different key, one so perfectly off pitch that I had to listen...
She was building a list of her fears, not to shoot napalm at the world, but to explain that she was scared...
She was a "name in lights" broadway walking dame that clicked 4 inch heels and swayed like there was a soundtrack to her stroll.
...eyes popped in her wake and left mens ribs bruised from sharp eyed wives and lovers that caught them stealing a look...
neck craned over her shoulder should shout, "trust me everything your thinking is true my man, its worth the punishment!"
But she kept walking... i realized that the old line has a sting that isnt conveyed in movies.."I love watching you walk away.... but.."
then she was gone....and then there was me....
"I wish somebody would write something beautiful about me."
.... She was bold and sang her tune in a different key, one so perfectly off pitch that I had to listen...
She was building a list of her fears, not to shoot napalm at the world, but to explain that she was scared...
She was a "name in lights" broadway walking dame that clicked 4 inch heels and swayed like there was a soundtrack to her stroll.
...eyes popped in her wake and left mens ribs bruised from sharp eyed wives and lovers that caught them stealing a look...
neck craned over her shoulder should shout, "trust me everything your thinking is true my man, its worth the punishment!"
But she kept walking... i realized that the old line has a sting that isnt conveyed in movies.."I love watching you walk away.... but.."
then she was gone....and then there was me....
I wanted to write her one of those” I love you essays” but I can’t you see because the thing you can’t see is the same thing that keeps these eyes chained too nostalgia and memories..
That’s where we live….in that time of then and..Who knows? I’m not really entitled to know..to know things like how she feels with her head on my chest listening to a thunder storm and creating lightning with our heartbeats, or how she feels in that moment before falling completely asleep…you know the one I’m talking about, when the world fades to a shade of gray and the blankets around you seem to be electric heated love and you can breathe in a centered, “ I love this moment” form.
To know things like, if her cheeks go as pink as I imagine when she is put on the spot with my hand resting on the back of her neck in a Lips and hips locked expression of my overwhelming desire for her at that moment…and every moment that I can remember with her in it. You can’t see that she is the physical personification of the beauty that I would hope to be gifted with by Gods right hand or the brilliance of a moment’s recognition that life exists within its fragile walls.
I love her on levels deep enough to rewrite and burn books written about the subject… and she is the topic of conversation whenever the subject of “the one who got away” comes up. I could write volumes about the way that the earth seems to give way under her step to reward her for the gift she is to its surface with every light footed pixie like motion she makes.
The things I want to share with her and feel with her aren’t mine to have and yet thinking what it would be like gives me the will to keep dreaming about the perfection that we could make..I use that word sparingly..but to spare all the intensity of my thoughts about her would not truly convey the feeling of true symphony that our souls dance would create….Simply put, I love her, I love her, I love her…its simple right?...then why can’t I love her?
…..A twisted tale of things that he has and everything that I hold true...I would if I could but I can’t so I think and there is the beauty of pain and she is still there…crying alone into Ben and jerries with a white gown catching the remains of that pain and she stands alone and the only thing that I want in this thing we call life is to make perfectly certain that she never has to spend one day in that place that doles depression pill poppers and keeps us staring into late night skies wondering when it’s going to change….but I can’t you see, because the one thing that I want to give her isn’t mine to give
That’s where we live….in that time of then and..Who knows? I’m not really entitled to know..to know things like how she feels with her head on my chest listening to a thunder storm and creating lightning with our heartbeats, or how she feels in that moment before falling completely asleep…you know the one I’m talking about, when the world fades to a shade of gray and the blankets around you seem to be electric heated love and you can breathe in a centered, “ I love this moment” form.
To know things like, if her cheeks go as pink as I imagine when she is put on the spot with my hand resting on the back of her neck in a Lips and hips locked expression of my overwhelming desire for her at that moment…and every moment that I can remember with her in it. You can’t see that she is the physical personification of the beauty that I would hope to be gifted with by Gods right hand or the brilliance of a moment’s recognition that life exists within its fragile walls.
I love her on levels deep enough to rewrite and burn books written about the subject… and she is the topic of conversation whenever the subject of “the one who got away” comes up. I could write volumes about the way that the earth seems to give way under her step to reward her for the gift she is to its surface with every light footed pixie like motion she makes.
The things I want to share with her and feel with her aren’t mine to have and yet thinking what it would be like gives me the will to keep dreaming about the perfection that we could make..I use that word sparingly..but to spare all the intensity of my thoughts about her would not truly convey the feeling of true symphony that our souls dance would create….Simply put, I love her, I love her, I love her…its simple right?...then why can’t I love her?
…..A twisted tale of things that he has and everything that I hold true...I would if I could but I can’t so I think and there is the beauty of pain and she is still there…crying alone into Ben and jerries with a white gown catching the remains of that pain and she stands alone and the only thing that I want in this thing we call life is to make perfectly certain that she never has to spend one day in that place that doles depression pill poppers and keeps us staring into late night skies wondering when it’s going to change….but I can’t you see, because the one thing that I want to give her isn’t mine to give
Those Eyes
Forbidden Dance...
The twining of two souls..
A blaze ignited by the friction of two bodies..2..1..now a bind of passion, desire, Rythmic beat dissolving barriers, adding fuel to the fire..
A Wet glow and deep stares,
hands lost in exploration,
lungs tight and too close to breathe..
A breeze across naked revelation and leg locked lust, the only connection to the surrounding world.
Fantasy hiding behind the guise of melody,
seperated by two windows to the soul....those eyes.
The twining of two souls..
A blaze ignited by the friction of two bodies..2..1..now a bind of passion, desire, Rythmic beat dissolving barriers, adding fuel to the fire..
A Wet glow and deep stares,
hands lost in exploration,
lungs tight and too close to breathe..
A breeze across naked revelation and leg locked lust, the only connection to the surrounding world.
Fantasy hiding behind the guise of melody,
seperated by two windows to the soul....those eyes.
From Across the Room
She's married…not happily I assume based off the way she kept her left hand suspended low below the dark marble counter top of the café she is shyly tending…
She has a prom queen's gaze projected through green eyes and 20 years under her belt since she rode that float..She doesn't keep eye contact for too long and you can tell through her distant flickering stare that she lost track of the times or rather the time lost track of her.
She used to dance and still has that desire..Her husband shares the same affinity for that expression. He rather finds his release in the bottom of a Coors original and lack of praise for his patient wife at the end of his day with a floundering construction company, but then again that moment at the end of the day is no different than his lunch break,, where he and his partners in the trade exclaim over their 3rd lunch brew that "it keeps the joints loose"..It also keeps him drunk and her sulking into Gilmore girl reruns in hopes that if the girls can find their peace of mind so can she.
She probably still dances…alone, when the house is empty and the moment is right and she doesn't feel so wrong..She will 2 step w her imaginary man. The same one that brings her flowers on his lunch break and breaks her away from the grind for ocean side retreats to walk until the sun sets and make love until the sun rises…Her shoes are spotless though. They've never seen a dance floor as all clubs have a strict "no shoes, no shirt, no service" policy, and barefoot and topless, fresh from the shower is the only time she steps with that rhythm of the latest country music, "this isn't my life but, I'm gonna run away and find it!" Jam…But she still dances alone.
Her down time at the new wave ultra world friendly café, is spent knitting..not texting or finger fluttering the world wide web in search of her newest MySpace friend…she knits…As if trying to bind together 2 strands of her life lost long ago or mend a rift that keeps a white gold wedding set in a dark pocket in hopes of a bright conversation…
Maybe she's manufacturing a small escape in a pair of warm socks that she can run in, inspired by a country song serenading her soul in a steamy bathroom, or maybe a scarf that can be worn around her neck to shield her from the vampire like suck that life has tried, ironically, to drain from her.
She's probably stronger than she looks, but she would have to be with 20 years of the life she has chosen to endure…
A Gap sweater and "skinny" pants along with a crisp pair of Pumas, would look good on any 18 year old, and she defiantly puts up a good fight…she looks the part, at least part of her looks and the rest hides behind light brown bangs and an all to practiced flustered expression.
I flashed her that crooked smile that says "there's obviously something more to what I'm saying" and lingered in that scotch and velvet radio voice that's a perfect blend of mild arrogance and under lying entitlement…like a voodoo king at work she responded in perfect form. A 10 year old with his first fish on the hook knows more what to do with his catch than she did with the one that jumped in the boat…
She is and always will be a dancer…alone? Ill order another cup and see.
She has a prom queen's gaze projected through green eyes and 20 years under her belt since she rode that float..She doesn't keep eye contact for too long and you can tell through her distant flickering stare that she lost track of the times or rather the time lost track of her.
She used to dance and still has that desire..Her husband shares the same affinity for that expression. He rather finds his release in the bottom of a Coors original and lack of praise for his patient wife at the end of his day with a floundering construction company, but then again that moment at the end of the day is no different than his lunch break,, where he and his partners in the trade exclaim over their 3rd lunch brew that "it keeps the joints loose"..It also keeps him drunk and her sulking into Gilmore girl reruns in hopes that if the girls can find their peace of mind so can she.
She probably still dances…alone, when the house is empty and the moment is right and she doesn't feel so wrong..She will 2 step w her imaginary man. The same one that brings her flowers on his lunch break and breaks her away from the grind for ocean side retreats to walk until the sun sets and make love until the sun rises…Her shoes are spotless though. They've never seen a dance floor as all clubs have a strict "no shoes, no shirt, no service" policy, and barefoot and topless, fresh from the shower is the only time she steps with that rhythm of the latest country music, "this isn't my life but, I'm gonna run away and find it!" Jam…But she still dances alone.
Her down time at the new wave ultra world friendly café, is spent knitting..not texting or finger fluttering the world wide web in search of her newest MySpace friend…she knits…As if trying to bind together 2 strands of her life lost long ago or mend a rift that keeps a white gold wedding set in a dark pocket in hopes of a bright conversation…
Maybe she's manufacturing a small escape in a pair of warm socks that she can run in, inspired by a country song serenading her soul in a steamy bathroom, or maybe a scarf that can be worn around her neck to shield her from the vampire like suck that life has tried, ironically, to drain from her.
She's probably stronger than she looks, but she would have to be with 20 years of the life she has chosen to endure…
A Gap sweater and "skinny" pants along with a crisp pair of Pumas, would look good on any 18 year old, and she defiantly puts up a good fight…she looks the part, at least part of her looks and the rest hides behind light brown bangs and an all to practiced flustered expression.
I flashed her that crooked smile that says "there's obviously something more to what I'm saying" and lingered in that scotch and velvet radio voice that's a perfect blend of mild arrogance and under lying entitlement…like a voodoo king at work she responded in perfect form. A 10 year old with his first fish on the hook knows more what to do with his catch than she did with the one that jumped in the boat…
She is and always will be a dancer…alone? Ill order another cup and see.
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