Words Much Like Poetry

the struggling light flickers atop a water candle a windy spell blows and threatens to put it out the flame almost leaps off but grabs onto the icy wick burning at the watery fuel the flame dreams of the water and the water holds its silence, unyielding ceding no ground betraying no emotion but the flame burns still on the water candle consuming the icy wick the water seeks the company of the flame the words exchanged of half passion half mystery betraying no emotion a perfect perplexity of state a perfect refusal of pairing yet the flame burns atop a water candle the flame aches denied for long no chance handed him no hint of future unity the flame burns upon an icy wick dreaming of the comfort of watery embrace the water plays games of wiles leading the flame's yellow heart to abeyance leading it to passion's end a place of hopelessness and pointless visions the water candle lets the flame burn upon an icy wick it has stood for long waiting for a sign of hope the struggling...

in the golden bath of the plunging sun the one who is stranger no more holds her close to still her trembling and seeks to illuminate her darkened soul she turns to him, her face a brazen perfection but her eyes of raw umber a reflection of sorrow his own eyes a deep sapphire sparkle, infect her with the calmness of still waters they bubble up from her eyes, streaming down unblemished skin—the dew of relief and the kiss, a plunge into a celestial fountain and in the softness a burst into wondrous paradise he pauses—her tears do not stop, she entreats the salt turns sweet and her body yields to passion he shelters her from the icy breeze whispering to her in harmony with long grass whistles the stars illuminate her face ever so softly and she relinquishes her heart to his warm embrace

One of my earlier poems really. They had sat in an old dusty notebook for a while until I discovered it while looking through old stuff. These little verses still ring true to what I felt at the moment I wrote them and now I share them with you. sweet and little soft or brittle? smooth and supple sweet and velvet as an apple chocolate but light brown but not white simple smile enticing eyes holding you in the while of thoughts and dreams sweet and of forever

There is nothing much to the poem, just looking at a lover's embrace in musical terms. I have always been a fan of musicals especially when there is no default sex involved. One fine example would be a classic Hindu movie - there is intense passion portrayed without the necessity of a sex scene. his head rests upon her bosom the heaving, its rise and fall a rhythm of sentiments deep her breath sweet, the breeze a whisper the softness of her cuddle the drumbeats her heartbeat her curves his adventure her soul his quest found to the song the drapes dance to the dance the palm leaves whistle to the whistle she hums the tune of souls united

ritualistic conferences, and coaxed sentiments. the moment gains momentum, and she becomes iridescent. toasts weave the air with mystery while all else fades, fatalistic pairing grows beneath. adoring mists waft by and gives them wings. songs of the butterfly's flutter cajole their souls to intoxicating heights. time stops and the stair to cupid's nest seems never ending. the mystery of her skin is unhidden, as silk hugs, pouring down applauding goosebumps. she purrs a murmur as fingertips call silently to hidden depths, streams of titillation flow from her every pore. a squeal escapes her as eddies travel up her spine. a whisper of vanities heralds a pain that bursts forth with pleasure. upon the feathers she is laid, mystery heightened by her closed curtains. the buds upon her bosom rise to meet ice. the fires within burn at it, water flowing to drop on velvet petals, glittering like dew. with a parting, the flower blossoms, and the honeysuckle hovers close to consume the eli...

brief glances, imparted under flirtatious design, the sizing of possibility's true measure, drift irrepressible speculations to the forefront of a perplexedly sensual mind. those musings—of scalding pressure, applied in desperate finesse, to the gracious curves of woman's bend— set nervous lips to smiling in frank longing as pins prick blushed and dimpled cheeks.