There’s a wildness within his eyes that sparks a fire inside my soul.
Passion, desire and the bitter taste of lust float through the air as pheromones,
Creating a bridge between us and linking us together.
This visceral feeling acts almost like a drug, pulling me under and clouding my senses.
It’s a primal game we play. We test ATTRACTion by creating friction with our bodies.
And are frightened by the REACTion we feel, finding out that love, as a catalyst, knows no bounds of race, gender, religion, philosophy or age.
That, in the end, we’re all just human and to love is what makes us so.
And there’s no error in that.

There is a darkness in him that compels me.
Every move he makes, it entices me and pulls me in.
A charming smirk, a twitch of his finger,
As he lounges in black velvet--nails sharpened to a point.
It's dangerous, but I can't withdraw, can't pull away from his touch.

His personality is like a drug. It's abusing, but it feels so good--so raw and primal.
I'm suspended on a silken thread, waiting to fall,
Anticipating it.

But all he does is smirk and take a drag as he paints my skin with ink.

I wanted you.
You—and your searing passion
Burning the walls of my heart and my apartment.
Our courtship became a game.
Who was the predator?
Who was the prey?
Your hazel eyes set fire to my body
And smoke was exhaled when you got close
People stared—but we were fully dressed.
No indecency was happening on the surface.
But I’m sure they felt the tension.
I felt the tension—my face set aflame by your kiss.
We could have had water and calmed ourselves—
But you already had my whiskey in your hand.

Where hands can’t touch,
Let my words fill the void.
To be a whispered blanket upon roughened skin.
And watch the snowflakes melt into you.

When eyes can’t see the darkened spectrum
May I try to decipher and unravel,
Your aura—beaming around you like a halo.
And cloaking you in passion.

When I can’t hear you anymore,
And my nose no longer can smell the pines and peonies on your skin,
I’d like to think that your body language
Would still my heartbeat, and draw me in.

Like a nightmare of most vivid dreams.

Calloused hands and fingertips,
Peruse a body lost in darkness,
Covered in sweat and pheromones,
Time's become a victim in our lust laced labyrinth.

The only sounds heard are the shivered panting of longing breaths
And the rustling of crumpled sheets like leaves in Fall.

This has become our most blessed sanctuary.
Now preach to me and make me say--

Amen.

I wanted to be something I was not,
Shedding myself like snake's skin,
I yearned to become,
Desperate, eager, aching.
Craving approval from eyes that weren't my own.

Until I realized...
That they were.

Never realizing that I--
Was good enough.

                      ©Elv

I was a bad child. You held out a switch.
I had my hand in the honeypot,
And I was stuck.

But I liked it.

You kissed me and I saw red,
You teased me and I responded.
Your hands traced every curve--my mountainous terrain.
My body was uncharted
But you quickly
Mapped

It

Out.

You tossed my heart into a frigid sea,
With regret crashing into the rocks.
I sputtered under your scathing remarks,
And cold piercing eyes.

You had waited for a day,
When my defenses were down,
And no boat was out at sea.
Then laughed as I faced the plunge--alone.

I drowned with the memory of your face,
Engraved in my mind like a scar.
Then proceeded to watch,
As my tears became one with the ocean.

Creativity is like an ambrosia,
Which artists **** sweetly from the fingers of the muse.
A drop at a time is all we're given,
Because it is the most lethal of all drugs.

To be without it creates a void,
Somewhere--we're not sure exactly,
But we feel it.

There is a golden goblet within the mind of every creator,
And it sits waiting to be filled with creativity,
So we can once again pick up our brushes, our chisels,
Our pencils and pens,
And longingly wait for that sweet drop of ambrosia.

You had a gun in your hand,
Trembling and shaking as you pointed it at me.
You opened your mouth,
Which pulled back the trigger,
And as soon as you said those words,
I was dead to you.

"I don't love you anymore."

My feelings will haunt you like a ghost.

We’ve forgotten how to heal.
Across the centuries of humanity, our emotional alchemy has been forgotten.
So now—we medicate—pouring pills into our hand so fast that they overflow like…
Niagara.
So now— we stare down the barrel of our third Grey Goose. Its bullets lighting up our bloodstream like…
Fireworks.
And now—we wander the streets and find solace in dark alleys at all hours of the night searching for something to make us…
Numb.
And now— we grab our rusted blade from our dusty nightstand drawer and…
Cut.
When injured, our body fights to heal the wounded cells—and sometimes the wounds were so deep they leave a scar. But they are, nonetheless, closed up.
If our body can heal—our minds can as well.
Somewhere along the way we have lost this very special and redeeming magic.
And without it, the human identity is beginning to corrode.

I seldom stop to think about,
The things that make me—me.
My stardust eyes reflect starry skies
And all that’s in between.
I have a body which knows no rest,
My swelling chest
My full plump *******
Have held most everything.
It was your pillow
When one too many
Problems creased your brow,
It was a saucer,
When you painted me
With honey and olive green,
Only to be licked and ravaged—
Nearly torn at the seams.
These hands have seen more I argue
They weather by the day,
By whenever they touch your sensitive skin
You say, “I like them that way.”
You’ve kissed my lips
With the reverence
Of a reigning queen.
And still, I sigh,
When one too many sleepless nights
I wake between your sheets.

Fire melded our souls together,
And burnt them at the same time.

Passion is a dangerously underestimated element.
Now I'll forever be a part of you.

Black.
Humble.
Momento Mori.

Remember, we are all but leaves on the tree of life.
And come our season, we too...
Will Fall.

The rain spattered on the broken glass,
My heart leaped out of my caved-in chest,
I called out to my love—and saw him pass.

I was left alone, skin soaking in the grass,
Only the staggered beating of my heart as—
The rain spattered on the broken glass.

The next day I wandered late to class
Anxious eyes and beaten heart searching,
I called out to my love—and saw him pass.

I fell to the ground—there was a mass
Of people who had stopped to stare—still,
The rain spattered on the broken glass.

Even today I think myself a foolish lass,
To dream that he’ll return to me.
I called out to my love—and saw him pass.

He gave me a key fashioned from brass,
To lock my heart away for good,
The rain spattered on the broken glass,
I called out to my love—and saw him pass

I have this calling that I'm trying to ignore
Because it goes against the grain of societal norms.
But without a hand in, I'm suffocating.
The tide pulls me in and I want to obey...
I want to.
But I fear the coiled tongue of those around me,
Will lash out like darts to pierce the one veil of security within me.
And then there's the injustice it would do to my ethnicity--so proud of hymnals built on crosses and prayers that if I falter...I feel I fail them and all the generations before me.
It hurts.
To think that pent-up aggression and hatred towards myself for being a coward could ever feel so --lonely.
I want to feel the rush of energy from the cool grass beneath me as,
I kick off my sandals and embrace my soul,
Through the soles of my feet.
It is a wanted thing...
A passion burning much like whiskey down a ****** throat.
Except this one is all-encompassing.

The weather chills and my blood is the only thing keeping me warm,
I have left the comforting cave of your embrace—looking for something different
Something exciting and thrilling enough to make me realize why I was alive.
I didn’t recognize that comfort was enough and the safety it implied.
When I left, I risked heartache
I risked the health of my most vital *****,
All because I craved danger.
What a fool I was.
I watched as you let another wolf into your den, one snowy night
And I—I was left out in the cold.
But who can blame you?
I said I was a fool.

You were a rushing river,
Seducing me with your course.

I was Ophelia.
My flower crown was to become my tombstone.
But your tears brought them back to life.

A fire is unfurling within me the older I get.
The need to be taken, body and soul, is overwhelming

I want my lips to receive your rapture
For your hands to pull my hair down like an anchor,
As you kiss your way around my neck’s perimeter.
And map my body with your caress.
As we shed our inhibitions like snake's skin...

Phase 1

His heart was full of cobwebs and weeds, while consisting of very little flowers. His dirt has been upturned by years of fear, self-loathing and low self esteem; it has been salted by tears and hence made perfect groundwork for our growing garden. A bud here, a blossom there, they rose. But the cold returned. A heart entering spring was dragged back down into a cavern of winter snow.

Phase 2

I couldn't find him. He left no tracks, just disappeared into the winter foliage. I called to him but was only met with echoing silence. Be still, my heart, the garden flourishes still--though frozen.

I fall forever it seems
Never waking from this dream
Where reality is tearing me at the seams
Breaking every bone in my body and soul.

The truth of the matter is...it's heartbreaking
The way my mind numbs a heart that's aching
The way his words weave through me--staking
The very last memory we hold together.

I was a flame,
Yet he laid on top of me,
Suffocating my senses.

To where my whole world.
Was him.

We learned from an early age,
The importance of money.
Collecting sand dollars on the shore,
And picking up tails-up pennies off the street.

I can feel the dawn on my skin
Fast approaching my labyrinth
Where time isn't of the essence,
Beauty is in the eye of the beholder,
And darkness waits for no man.