Calming with the softness of your skin,
Sated of my hunger for your kiss,
Nourished by the state you put me in,
Feeding this soul’s appetite for bliss.

Craving delicacies of your eyes,
Sensing sunrise warmth of your embrace,
Mornings such as this I energize
With anticipation of your face.

Awake to the honey of your tongue
And fluttering eyelash on my cheek,
You’re the morning hope of day still young,
You provide for me the love I seek.

To stir from my complacency
With the words as my compulsion,
Poems feel like a eulogy
Of my not-dead-yet emotion.

I write to be a memory
For either fondness or for ill,
With words of perpetuity
So that no reader’s heart is still.

The solemn thoughts trapped in my head,
My fingers type to let them out,
So my embarrassment is read
By strangers I know not about.

Writing with ego’s delusion
That when I die my words survive,
But my ironic conclusion
Is that I write to stay alive.

The tenuous sense of self is crumbling
In a gentle breeze of slight rejection,
Whose worth is broken by extreme humbling
So breaking true self’s the self’s protection.

Breaking down instead of standing strong
Means the world must clean up all your pieces.
Even when the self feels the self is wrong
And the will to hold yourself releases.

The human soul is stronger than the hand.
The self survives outside a lover’s grip.
When you crumble you need to understand
Your own love is the greatest partnership.

You never considered how much trouble
It is to find heartbeats in the rubble.

You are my guide,
My beacon,
My direction.
For when I slide,
So meek in
My dejection.

You are my hope,
My feeling,
My compassion.
You’re how I cope,
When reeling
From my passion.  

You are my soul,
My soulmate,
My connection.
You make me whole,
You create
True perfection.

Too many paths where the traffic has slowed,
Too many wrong turns down forks in the road.
Too many hazards where I’ve blown a flat,
Too many stops that I didn’t know I was at.
Too many false steps into a puddle,
Too many treks where my plan was a muddle.
Too many times I was lost in the rain,
Too many times I crossed the center lane.
Too many speeds where I needed to brake,
Too many wrong places reached by mistake.
Too many spin outs from driving on ice,
Too many times I left driven by vice.
Too many trips life put me at the wheel,
Too many heartbreaks I caused her to feel.

Let not this love fall into discontent,
Nor my eyes accustom to her allure.
Let not the sight of her cease wonderment,
Nor my passion bore with beauty demure.

Let not my lips stop quiv’ring for her kiss,
Nor my fingers ache for her velvet hair.
Let not my arms embrace with avarice,
Nor my desire leave anything to spare.

Let not her beauty ever be passé,
Nor my heart not yearn for her naked breast.
Let not making love miss a single day,
Nor lying beside her allow us rest.

Let not me take for granted her boudoir,
Nor my love for her wane even a bit.
Let not my lustful eyes ever look far,
Nor my body ablaze become unlit.

The figures in my dreams must be angels,
Speaking in words I can’t hear when awake,
That beauty surrounding me is angels,
Their silent love beyond what I can make.

There’s no love like being loved by angels,
Whose embrace is welcomed by resting hearts,
My most intimate dreams are of angels,
Their love is timeless without ends or starts.

Feelings I feel in dreams come from angels,
Who kiss me with lips that form perfect smiles,
Releasing my soul to dance with angels,
In romantic step down flowered aisles.

I dream to dream once again of angels,
With mystic fingers soft as nothing’s touch,
To once again lie down with the angels,
And dream of angels who love me so much.

The finest wine to touch my lips
Was not as intoxicating,
Neither could its sweetness eclipse,
The magic that we’re creating.

The finest silk to touch my skin
Was ne’er as tender or as light,
Nor did its comfort draw me in,
As your arms do for me at night.

No melody’s been played so fine
To be the the music to my ears,
Nor notes written to such design,
The way your voice always my fears.

The world can offer jewels and gold
And endless gifts as pure as dew,
But not even wisdom of old
Is as precious to me as you.

This. Morning. Brings me. Hope.
Hope. Comforts. My lost. Soul.
Soul. Welcomes. Angel’s. Breath.
Breath. Living. Gift from. Heaven.
Heaven. Smiling. Above. Me.
Me. Thankful. I have. Life.

In comfortable manipulation,
The awful painful truth hidden away.
Choosing the numbness of fabrication
O’er trauma in believing what they say.

In the morning my comfort comes from lies,
By nightfall pain comes from the deception.
The calm on which this trusting heart relies,
Crumbles now beneath this cracked reflection.

I yearn for comfort from the painful truth!
I shall tolerate no excuse to live!
Give me no more naïveté from youth!
I prefer the hurt honesty will give.

Painful truth is better than comfort’s lies.
This fact hurts more than I could realize.