. . . let my soul sleep
While the spirit dreams
of a new age.
An age where
You are here with me,
loving me tenderly,
I’d caress you lovingly.
Upon all the life can bring,
on all fights of argument and tempers,
I know that your hands will put up to me
and love me as I submit to your lips,
and of your hips to mine.
Coz baby, the makeup is as much sweeter
than fighting with our mouth open,
and ours close.
Oh such sweet forgiveness,
Upon your strawberry lip gloss.
I will come to you,
bearing no idea of gifts, nor pleasure or even
the greatest hope of treasures.
All of my bitterness of the baggage
first from a past that haunts,
a rage I cannot deny,
I hold it til it blurs my eye.
This is not mine to give,
will you take it away,
My darling Thea,
your eyes are my happiness.
your smile banishes everything in sight.
your touch to sense what I cannot.
your love makes me,
what I am not,
for I am weak upon the cradle of your bosom.
for I can be yours of now and the moment
where you lead my emotions into
a potential in wealth and abundance.
a definitive accusations wherein lies a heart dismantled.
a defining minutes of every second of centuries of emotional languishing upon a heart. . .
. . of one’s own amusement;
. . of one’s own lamentations;
but only one true construct
and of condition to train,
One heart remains beating to the rhythm.
would that be,
who still loves us,
Who can . .
What face is this,
a face that triggers my loving embrace.
What love is this,
when my heart loves you as the same 20 yrs ago.
When can i have you,
to feel your skin so close,
as close as mine to keep you attached
as much as possible.
I love you,
is not enough,
I love you,
is a passing wind
I need to hold you,
To make you feel
how truly. . .
how much. . .
and make you know,
I am and will always.
“What is love,
Baby dont hurt me,
No more ”
Many thanks to love,
A love shared by true lovers abode,
In Trystan’s cup he did admit and accepted,
If love should ever live then til now,
Isolde would have vengeance upon her lips
As would Juliet’s wanton lust not for Romeo’s breast.
Knowingly that love suffers at the core of being,
Understanding between a man and a woman’s love
endures while one can assume power not only in emotional,
only a love unrequited knows to kiss the floor first than
the lips of that lovers lustful smother upon each other.
Weary of my left,
I take it off.
Pain of my callous,
I bare its righteous imbalance.
Not dirty nor filthy but the clothes I shed off,
As I dry thine fingers onto the soul of each hair that does trigger.
You come to me,
Does not ask,
Clasping me as your favourite,
Never stopping or complaints of my hygiene.
Kissing all of me, loving me as I am.
I give back as we empty all that there is.
For you I can not give nor take,
willingly or an unconditional.
My love, my beautiful.
My dear beloved Thea.
Drain me of the day
As I empty myself unto you.
We have been apart from some time.
Here you are beside me.
Sucking all of my rage,
Making love to you is like the love I crave,
Not of flesh desires,
Not lust of my loins.
Coz your time is an infinite love,
That no one can ever fathom nor comprehend.
So I lean on, chills me to the bone.
Gives me shelter,
And never stops to tell me,
Doesn’t matter how much, many or just the same.
I am here, no one else is here.