To hand is a Miss, who finds solace in me,
Then yet, why can I not stand of condolence to thee;
She whispers in my ears, fragrant airs of symphony,
Drawing nigh, the passion of my soul to the lure of dearest’s epitome.
My heart nurtures the budding warmth of the Miss’s beckoning hymn,
As the sunlit passion of our enkindled love grows dim;
You rouse the sheer nature of my once disguised dismay,
Before sorrow seals my soul and life drifts absent as it lay.
Laced gracefully upon her I see an Angel come utterly unto heaven,
And the beauty of her mind whelms the flames of my desire,
As I dream of her silk skin upon mine, unveiled of attire;
Still my eyes are yet to see the Miss’s truest form given.
I patiently wait in the deep of my blistering parched passions,
The day she will reveal herself to consume me in everlasting compassion.
In a world where natural tendency
And temptation is feared
But hatred and ignorance
Make us comfortable
We that love and we that see
Are crushed by responsibility.
i am reading poems—
all of it reminds me of you.
so i thought,
why not write one about you?
let me write the sorrow i feel during your absence;
the pain i feel is an absolute madness.
let me write about the butterflies;
those eyes will always leave me hypnotised.
let me write about the comfort;
your way with words will always be a sunburst.
Everyone has a a billowing pillow that's larger than their troubles sitting at the bottom of their cliff.
It's comforting, it's warm, and suffocating as you land on such sweet bliss.
The pillow envelops you, compacting you in a small, tight cocoon.
The pressure forces you to to gulp in air and squeeze your eyes shut tight.
"Everything will be fine," they whisper. "No need to fright."
And suddenly, as you're wrapped up in a pillow, everything seems to be all right.
everyone gets caught up in the rain,
but not everyone is handed an umbrella.
everyone has problems,
but only some people are comforted.
and i've gotten drenched too many times to count
but i've never gotten you wet,
when you're faced with the smallest drizzle,
everyone comes running to give you shelter.
I loved the way she felt.
Wearing her like a shirt.
Soft and snug.
I wrapped her arms around me, safeguarding her just as shes safeguarded me.
Her essence following me everywhere I went.
She was the perfect size.
The way she wrapped around me.
I buttoned her up, feeling the caress of her back.
The deep dimple that ensued.
Covering me with all of her.
I blushed at the warmth she provided.
When the time came, I hated to have to take her off.
The fear of washing away the stain of memories we have created.
Life isn't meant
To be spent
Treading brackish water,
Whether to swim to sea
Or go upstream
The fresh waterways
Of the nostalgia days
Streaming home or
The salty waves
Of the horizon gazing
Back at me pulling away.
Is the undertow grasping
While I remain gasping
For just one breath
Better than knocking knees
Against rock shallow depth,
Mindlessly floating at ease
With the current it seems,
Still gently row row rowing
Navigating against growing,
A life only wishing for dreams.