#virginal
except,
when the old eyes tear, with the greatest of ease,
hitched a planetary ride round the sun, more times
to know that the square root of the human is not
his exterior, which without fail, grows and erodes
on a timed schedule not of his own choosing...
but the mystery that never ages, the arousal of
his base metals, when the women looks upon him
with a intriguing askance, tasking a masking of an
invitational challenge, a whimsy expression of hither
confusion is the reigning ruler, mining for her actual
intentions, the push~pull of her contradictions and
her puzzling diction, impossible to interpret until I
admit, jingle jangle woman, I'll come following you
this is a familiar newness, a fresh candle lit for burning,
and every time is the first time, so there you have it,
I'm no ****** but born renewed, when the heated heart
quavers, with the anticipation of the known unknowns
and the old tears free falling, she finds its puzzling,
even troubling, till she grasps my smiling countenace,
and my head, two~handed embraced as she studies my line~age,
my map of wrinkled experiences that whisper yes, I understand
and she kisses my forehead, acknowledging acceptance that our
paths have never until now crossed, what a delightful surprise
will be the reading of a unexplored map of our conjoined palms,
the greatest wonder be that surprise has not died, and I
with one hand waving free, welcome it all, and she grins at my
exuberant silliness, and that we choose to be with each other, on
a treasure hunt for a poem as of yet unwritten, but so so wonderfull
comforting that its mere outline and its composition~completionition
familiarity speaks of the good things that experience has brought
and now, again, will yet bend time to our wills and what fun that
will be, defying odds, reliving new moments unique, hot created,
and this adventure reinstills the awe of wonder at familiar unknowns
*that early morn smell of
buttered brioche bread,
fresh, virginal,
like the sweat
we have shed
and laughs we,
just baked this
day*
Apr 8, 2025
Apr 8, 2025 at 7:43 PM UTC
Virginal
by Michael R. Burch
For an hour
every wildflower
beseeches her,
"To thy breast,
Elizabeth."
But she is mine;
her lips divine
and her ******* and hair
are mine alone.
Let the wildflowers moan.
Published by Songs of Innocence. Keywords/Tags: Love, wildflowers, lips, ******* hair, virginal, moan, moaning, *** passion, desire, divine, divinity
Apr 2, 2020
Apr 2, 2020 at 2:40 AM UTC
Virginal white dress,
Her colorblind obsession
Breeds jealous colors.
Apr 11, 2017
Apr 11, 2017 at 7:34 AM UTC
Long ago love looked like romance
it held a subtle sheen of madness
Chaos and passion left in pair
Our beds lie oceans apart
My heart can't swim the carpet
In the night we camped the platform
I hadn't yet bought matches
as the smoke was yet to lick me
inside my virginal lungs
My heart grows tumescent, we
never sat close to view forever
in the dusk of violet July
To fulfill happiness fully
suppose we just kiss goodbye forever
and bare the carpet to cement
May some poor soul once more find
their face between too hairy legs
and with my chin I'd trace constellations
Sail our beds both furthest apart
Sail our beds into the dark
Mar 19, 2017
Mar 19, 2017 at 7:14 AM UTC
Blissful time kissing . . .
My bare thighs sink into hers,
. . . Running sands so quick.
Dec 2, 2014
Dec 2, 2014 at 9:05 PM UTC
Under the primrose stars, the lovers
Lie abed, on green, threadbare croft
Of sleeping daisy, clover and moss,
Trails with hushed air, an embroidery
So fine as to stitch blushing heart fall
And wrap the waters full of stillness
In graces, winding, soft, granulating
Time, wings flutter and hum, winsome
Sparks, fire white, flying as little suns
Burst confetti, in sweet encampment,
Of grass and sapling wood, innocents,
Charmed are wholly twining, in moon
Rise a lantern to the winking heavens,
Out of their skins they are climbing.
Jun 16, 2014
Jun 16, 2014 at 7:03 PM UTC