#lace
Forget the lace and the grocery-store roses,
The hollow words and the practiced poses.
I don’t want a love that’s polite or refined,
I want the kind that leaves the world behind.
I want the friction, the heat, and the noise,
The reckless rhythm that balance destroys.
Lock your fingers in the mess of my hair,
And breathe me in like the midnight air.
Love isn't a poem written in ink,
It’s the edge of the cliff where we don’t even blink.
It’s a fever, a pulse, a beautiful wreck,
It’s the bite of your teeth on the side of my neck.
So save the candy and the velvet red,
Give me the fire and the words unsaid.
Let the saints have their halos and shrines......
Tonight, just be my favorite............
sweetheart sin,.......Valentine.
Michael Powers
"STYXX ON FIRE "
Feb 8
Feb 8, 2026 at 10:04 PM UTC
Lipstick, kohl, lace-her careful art. Not adornments; they pierce the heart. Velvet sharp, her glow commands.
No man tames what fire demands.
She rises; storms beneath her skin, Burning worlds, rebuilding within.
In her tempest, love must kneel, His surrender learns how flames feel.
Sep 11, 2025
Sep 11, 2025 at 3:02 AM UTC
Midnight lace, a whispered grace,
A gentle touch, in a tender space.
Love's soft scent, a sweet perfume,
Chasing shadows, lifting gloom.
Hand in hand, true hearts explore,
Leaving soft prints on love's own shore.
Beneath soft silks, a form so fair,
A secret beauty, beyond compare.
A gentle curve, a hidden gleam,
Like a softly waking, lovely dream.
A quiet joy, for loving eyes,
A promise held, beneath soft skies.
Lingerie is more than what lies beneath the dress;
it is the inner spark, the hidden glamour,
the private radiance that makes a woman
feel exquisite in her own skin.
And how should one care for such intimate grace?
Treat each piece with love, in time and space.
As you would tend a fragile bloom,
Or banish from a heart all gloom.
With gentle hands, a soft embrace,
A quiet reverence, time cannot erase.
So let this beauty brightly shine,
A tender joy, a love divine.
Amen.
Sep 2, 2025
Sep 2, 2025 at 11:28 PM UTC
She fell—
Not with fire, not in wrath,
But like a prayer dropped through a crack in heaven.
No war cry.
No thunder.
Just silence,
and then
her.
Wings once woven from starlight
torn against the jagged edge of earth.
She crashed where no gods wept,
and no one watched—
except me.
I saw her break
into something human,
but still more holy
than anything I've ever touched in this ruined world.
She walks now
with wounds she hides beneath her smile,
grace limping beside her like a shadow.
They see a girl.
I see the ash of heaven still in her eyes.
And I—
I sit behind glass, just skin and silence,
choking on every scream
I never let out to her.
I could have caught her.
I would have caught her.
If only fate had let me closer than this aching distance.
I see the hurt she wears like lace,
stitched in places no one thinks to look.
I see her give love with bleeding hands,
as no one stops to hold them, to stop the bleeding.
She doesn’t know.
She never does.
That every time she breaks,
I break louder.
If I could speak just once,
truly speak—
I’d tell her I was built not to worship her,
but to take the pain,
to bear it for her
like a crown of fire I’d wear gladly
just to see her rest.
But she walks,
unaware.
A fallen angel still searching for a sky,
while I remain the man
who watched her fall
and loved her ever since.
Jul 29, 2025
Jul 29, 2025 at 8:46 PM UTC
Still mask, that's what's left- a face,
A canvas for words I've never said.
Your fingers tracing the lace,
The only thing I ever dread.
You place the letters by my side,
Silent tear rolling down your cheek,
Words tangled in webs, trying to hide,
Knowing that I'll never speak.
You lay white lilies by ice-cold hands,
Close to cover the letters as it lands.
May 6, 2025
May 6, 2025 at 2:54 PM UTC
~an artwork beneath our feet, yet invisible to
our eyes, constantly changing ,interlocking
interlinking~
this poem has asked for composition
everytime, I walk upon and past the sculputure
beneath my feet on the Esplanade by The River
(Diatom Lace on the East River - Stacy Levy
www.stacylevy.com › projects › diatom-lace-on-the-east-river) (1)
but as I daily hurry past (for years) and over this pattern form lifted from the
river's flowing,
a daily delaying,
for the words good enough to honor it, the invisible floating floral tentacles,
attaching each water molecule to the next,
do not arise of sufficient quality of wordsmithy,
the Whitman words do not float up from the waters rushing past,
and come to rest in my multi-tasking poetry conceptuals
many months, even years,
have gone by and after every water walk,
the sculpture stabs me guilty,
of procastination,
and an unwillingness to tackle it,
like the other tough stuff that haunts me
so this morning, when I drown in the file laughingly called
100 & One Drafts
a J'accuse (1) finger stabs my eyes and repeats the caveat of the sage
Hillel the Elder: (1)
If not now, when?
and even as I sit and compose,
the words refuse to surrender unto me
for easy transcription
and the chest tight with guilt, from all the
promises I've made and remain
unkempt & unkept,
that stunt and stun my spirit,
with inconsolable sadness
So
I distract myself,
check the sleeping woman<
take my morning meds,<
reheat my "The Gamblers Mug" (Cezanne)(1) of morning coffee,<
and alas, at last, once more surrender to my worst,
and issue an invitation to >you<
come visit me, come walk with me,
perhaps together, a greater good will emerge,
and we will feed each others tongues
with syllables and sounds,
that will trigger,
go figure!
a suitable poem
worthy of a great art work,
the lace of diatoms
in the water,
that our eyes cannot see,
but our hearts
can feel
and with better words,
be so honored,
*by a poem
truly worthy
of this*
miraculous
conception
Mar 29, 2025
Mar 29, 2025 at 8:31 AM UTC
O chattering Camha… O blooming garden,
Lift the world’s weight—do not harden.
Sprinkle snowflakes upon our wound,
O wondrous embroidery… O eyes deepened.
O lips, whose blooming is yet unknown,
A question lingering, never shown…
You came, my summer, in a symphony
Of swallows soaring, scents full-grown.
O veil of lace, draped over wealth,
Be dazed—for wonder is health.
Isn’t there a shaded corner for me,
Among almond trees and sandalwood’s breath?
O Camha… I was a blazing fire,
That in a moment, turned into a stream.
Cushions of apples, raised before me—
How could I not lean in and dream?
The black lily, longing, whispers low:
"Feast on our petals, let passion grow."
A piece of lace—my vessel it became,
If the dew departs, so shall my name.
Row me across a moon so dim,
A planet lost—a world grown grim.
O sail of goodness, do not shy,
Silken cocoons need not deny.
Venture forth! The eastern wind calls,
What are we if not dreamers enthralled?
Beneath the shadow of a shadow’s grace,
A thousand dawns in waiting fall.
O wonder of wonders, O Camha bright,
O velvet praying on velvet light
Mar 7, 2025
Mar 7, 2025 at 11:56 PM UTC
you’re the ghost
of the younger you
as you float
down the stairway
catch your eye
you crack a smile
we sit and pine
for a while
down the drain
pour the coffee that
we didn’t drink
too cold
hear the girl
in the stereo
singing tunes
from long ago
don’t lie to me my friend
are we really at the end?
should’ve dressed for the event
but i know we’ll meet again
i’ll wear something black and red
you’ll apply my favorite scent
and if still we both forget
then i’ve loved you ’til the end
i’m the wraith
of the younger me
as i joke
to see you laughing
hear the boy
on the radio
as your gaze
meets the door
don’t lie to me my friend
are the waves upon the sand?
they may rip you from my hand
but i know we’ll meet again
and i’ll wear my darkest cape
you’ll put on your finest lace
and if still we should forget
then i’ve loved you ’til the end
Feb 28, 2025
Feb 28, 2025 at 5:22 PM UTC
I love her sweet and sour
the taste, I devour
addicted to the scent .
Finger licking good.
Like a strong whiskey sour,
an acquired taste,
established pleasure.
I liquor lace,
she comes with haste
to the third power.
Mar 16, 2024
Mar 16, 2024 at 10:16 AM UTC
Touch the stars tarnished with ancient dust
Gaze at the moon, round with the suns love
Of reflections thousands of miles away
As the incandescent comets fly and sway
And the planets hovering still around
Towards the suns rays they chance a bow
In the frigid darkness, silent in space
The stillness frosts the air like the most delicate lace
Mar 9, 2021
Mar 9, 2021 at 5:02 PM UTC
I was holding Her Hands,
as We walked the Talk.
The Moon in the Sky,
watched Us like a Hawk.
Her natural beauty shone,
all over the Place.
My Woman was draped,
in a German Gown of Lace.
It was on the Silver Beach,
Our Romance got Lit.
Slowly and Steadily,
Our Midnight Passions got Hit.
I Unwrapped Her Desires,
as the Cold Wind kept Blowing.
As She wrapped around My Arms,
My Endless Love kept Flowing.
Jun 25, 2020
Jun 25, 2020 at 8:05 AM UTC
dancing on a moonless night
the air is cold
stars the only light
a lacy white dress
flowing with her movement
is she porcelain
or is she human
a music box plays
while she slowly spins
her limbs held together
with staples and pins
sweet tinklings and chimes
while she closes her eyes
trapped in a hell
a soft gentle demise
winding down
the music slows
to staccato notes
there is no flow
just jerky beats
eventually
silence
my hands reach for the key
Jun 21, 2020
Jun 21, 2020 at 9:58 AM UTC
To a Louse
by Robert Burns
translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Hey! Where're you going, you crawling hair-fly?
Your impudence protects you, barely;
I can only say that you swagger rarely
Over gauze and lace.
Though faith! I fear you dine but sparely
In such a place.
You ugly, creeping, blasted wonder,
Detested, shunned by both saint and sinner,
How dare you set your feet upon her—
So fine a lady!
Go somewhere else to seek your dinner
On some poor body.
Off! around some beggar's temple shamble:
There you may creep, and sprawl, and scramble,
With other kindred, jumping cattle,
In shoals and nations;
Where horn nor bone never dare unsettle
Your thick plantations.
Now hold you there! You're out of sight,
Below the folderols, snug and tight;
No, faith just yet! You'll not be right,
Till you've got on it:
The very topmost, towering height
Of miss's bonnet.
My word! right bold you root, contrary,
As plump and gray as any gooseberry.
Oh, for some rank, mercurial resin,
Or dread red poison;
I'd give you such a hearty dose, flea,
It'd dress your noggin!
I wouldn't be surprised to spy
You on some housewife's flannel tie:
Or maybe on some ragged boy's
Pale undervest;
But Miss's finest bonnet! Fie!
How dare you jest?
Oh Jenny, do not toss your head,
And lash your lovely braids abroad!
You hardly know what cursed speed
The creature's making!
Those winks and finger-ends, I dread,
Are notice-taking!
O would some Power with vision teach us
To see ourselves as others see us!
It would from many a blunder free us,
And foolish notions:
What airs in dress and carriage would leave us,
And even devotion!
One Sunday while sitting behind a young lady in church, Robert Burns noticed a louse roaming through the bows and ribbons of her bonnet. The poem "To a Louse" resulted from his observations. The poor woman had no idea that she would be the subject of one of Burns' best poems about how we see ourselves, compared to how other people see us at our worst moments. Keywords/Tags: Robert Burns, louse, church, bonnet, lace, Scotland, Scots, dialect, translation
Apr 21, 2020
Apr 21, 2020 at 5:26 AM UTC
The Secret of Her Clothes
by Michael R. Burch
The secret of her clothes
is that they whisper a little mysteriously
of things unseen
in the language of nylon and cotton,
so that when she walks
to her amorous drawers
to rummage among the embroidered hearts
and rumors of pastel slips
for a white wisp of Victorian lace,
the delicate rustle of fabric on fabric,
the slightest whisper of telltale static,
electrifies me.
Published by Erosha, Velvet Avalanche (Anthology) and Poetry Life & Times
Keywords/Tags: clothes, lingerie, nylon, cotton, amorous, drawers, slips, lace, static, electricity, mystery, mysterious
Apr 13, 2020
Apr 13, 2020 at 5:16 AM UTC
Are You the Thief
by Michael R. Burch
for Beth
When I touch you now,
O sweet lover,
full of fire,
melting like ice
in my embrace . . .
when I part the delicate white lace,
baring pale flesh,
and your face
is so close
that I breathe your breath
and your hair surrounds me like a wreath . . .
tell me now,
O sweet, sweet lover,
in good faith . . .
are you the thief
who has stolen my heart?
Originally published as “Baring Pale Flesh” by Poetic License/Monumental Moments
Keywords/Tags: Love, lover, touch, fire, ice, melting, embrace, white, lace, flesh, face, breath, hair, wreath, faith, thief, heart, ****** erotica
Mar 28, 2020
Mar 28, 2020 at 6:02 AM UTC
sewing time together,
we scribe our narrative,
your lace stitches leather,
like a seamstress.
failures don't forget me,
i'm their stone to engrave,
designed imperfections
and a chiseled face.
close enough to notice,
constellations are yarn,
unthreading in the distance,
these days seam apart.
Mar 11, 2020
Mar 11, 2020 at 10:39 PM UTC
Shadows play pirouettes in my soul
and they reveal unwritten secrets,
the taste of love is lost in a whisper.
I'd like to be your tough wool jacket
that you wear in all the seasons,
you hang me on the half-broken hanger
only when you go to sleep in the middle of the night,
then I smile at you in the morning
when you take me out of the darkness.
I'd like to wear you like my favorite shirt
made of mulberry silk with fine lace buttons,
to feel you at my chest and dance with you
the dance of the common days,
I'd like like you to be the nectar of the Manuka flowers
from which I could feed for the whole year
then I would fly in search of the sunset,
I'd like to be your footprint
on the wet sand of the hot sea
that would take me away in distant worlds,
I'd like to…
Mar 26, 2019
Mar 26, 2019 at 3:14 PM UTC
He's cast himself into my memories like a curse, a hex
He's a demon sent to taunt me
A ghost meant to haunt me
I tear away only to be pulled back once again
Like the waves of the ocean are controlled by the moon
He takes control of my willpower pulling me back to him, and away from me
He ties lace around his words
Glitter falling off every syllable
Black glitter to trick your eyes
His lovely lace wraps around my throat
Consuming my thoughts
Trapping me in his silky spider web
Why is it so hard for me to leave
Something I know is not for me
When will I find my way back to me and finally
Escape
Jan 16, 2019
Jan 16, 2019 at 10:34 AM UTC
building up
want you
want me
scared
fear
want
desire
i don't get it
what is happening
hold my hand
and here we stand
taking on this land
so much love to be had
so much happiness that i am always glad
not enough sorrow to make you mad
no way our love will go bad
once in a while we are sad
you are lace-clad
with each layer you add
mindlessness will not stand
tie your hair back with a purple band
are you concealing yourself from this lucky young man?
and i thought i had you...
****
Sep 27, 2018
Sep 27, 2018 at 9:39 PM UTC
You spin my flaws into gold and make my compulsions into beautiful quilts -- each pattern complicated and strange
Seamstress, why do you spin even my most troublesome features into exquisite works?
For even my lies are crafted into lace.
Sep 16, 2018
Sep 16, 2018 at 3:39 PM UTC
skipping stones along the shallow banks,
my toes numb from the cold mountain water,
flowing purposefully, free to escape
& moving with pride down the ranks.
I find my mind there, in this place,
where momentum is the only answer.
I turn my *** upstream, can't face the past,
but my prior storms of debris follow, biting back.
side arm throws & one eyed aims,
embraced by lies & I'm alone to blame,
in this place where time is free,
gold dust lace must find me.
Aug 5, 2018
Aug 5, 2018 at 11:24 PM UTC