A woman's heart
such a delicate flower
that blooms upon the rich warm fields
Where love calls its name.

Each petal of her
like a rich brocade
woven to the sheer delights
That fills a woman's Soul.

It is in her
that truly all mystery arises
Holds dear to form and substance
The dreams that are the worlds.

But this heart
How so it pounds
thrives for the consistency
that eternal need.

To be shared, consumed, held
In the vibrancy of want, passion
In the delicate sound of a word
in the soft touch of a hand.

It engulfs, holds her,
rushing deep
fills every gap
And makes her whole.

To live in the fantasy
where wants collide upon the breath
The sweet instinctive musk
that arouses from the depths of them.

Their passion that quivers upon
Through and for that gentle touch
To be loved whole and sweetly
lived in and with that erupting soul.

They strive in its simplicity
their want, their need
For loves fulfillment
that shines from their eyes.


Alisdaire O'Caoimph