#wooing
** ** hey sailor, quickly turn your boat
Come, come, come closer, so you can our hand hold
Yo, yo, love's waiting for you dear
Go, go, go forward or we will disappear
Row, row, row your boat, we want to take you home
Don't, don't, don't leave us, or our heart will turn to stone
Here, here, our lovely, you'll get everything you want
Oh, oh, our sailor, follow our lovely song
Jun 9, 2021
Jun 9, 2021 at 7:50 AM UTC
I was Wooing My Honey,
on a dark lonely Night.
The Stars were missing
and the Moon was nowhere in Sight.
We were sailing in Italy,
on the Waters of Lake Como.
Reminding ourselves,
of Our Nightmare near Mount Bromo.
The Waves were Flirting
and Romancing the Shore.
Her Kisses started pouring
and we're sweeter than Before.
As Our bodies went Sailing,
from one position to Another.
The Rain came Tumbling,
changing the ****** Weather.
As Our Romance reached,
it's Mountain Peak.
Our Bodies were Locked,
putting an end to The Week.
Jun 21, 2020
Jun 21, 2020 at 12:26 AM UTC
There once was a time when wooing women with carefully crafted words was a grand purpose. Significant sentiment, conveying desperate desire and intimate intent, were the staples of the ardent young man. His only recourse was to face the object of his affection, and, with tremulous tone and generous gesture, convey the earnestness of his cause from his heart to hers.
These matters of love should perfectly pierce her heart with incisive inflection and amorous articulation. Instead, our mobile, modulated, mute-able media turns awry this enterprise of great moment and dulls its course.
I now live in an age of digital despair where ghostly static and fast-food conversation are the new calamity of so-longed life. How much easier to bare the pangs of despised love when confronted by its whips and scorns, rather that face the eternal imagination of empty airwaves.
Dec 26, 2019
Dec 26, 2019 at 9:39 PM UTC
Mouths meeting rushing to be fed and feed
Tongues mingling and exploring
Hunger and thirst crushing need
Passion’s fire roaring
Bodies and hearts entwined
Soul and mind thriving
On all they find
On a journey bereft of depriving
Passion’s fire consuming
A life unto its own in their head
Exhuming
What lay buried, lost, undiscovered, forgotten or dead
Born anew or resurrected
Nerves, thoughts, and emotions it imbibes and revives
By passion’s fire new life injected
Brings new purpose and experiences to their lives
Passions kindled now burning so hot
It sears, mind, body, heart and soul
Delivers everything they sought
Two lost, now one tempered and made whole
Passion’s fire, burning growing as they explored
***** freaky, and debauchery with revel
With passion's fire they soared
FInding the primeval
In the chasing
In the wooing
In the embracing
In the doing
In the B, in many ways
In the D, defining each other’s roles
In the S, setting new trails ablaze
In the M, reaching dark corners of each other’s souls
~Wes Noneya
Feb 10, 2017
Feb 10, 2017 at 5:52 PM UTC
It will be futile
To gather you into my arm
While my virility with
Ego-rocking words you harm!
Feb 5, 2016
Feb 5, 2016 at 1:42 AM UTC
"The thought of the future we will never have was pollinating foul fuzzy particles in the air, slowly following the wake of all those tasseled dreams I had held onto for all those years but had to let go."
The most intimate revelations can often expose plagiaristic suppressions that we've most likely tried to already forget. Suggesting to anyone on the outside looking in, that there is a rancid cowardice secreting from the pores of all those who would deny the most basic of fundamental decencies to their fellow man.
All the while, boasting a loud tolerance that would be found on the very last Autumn-the very last colorful arrangements of watering oranges and smothered reds our world was ever going to be privileged to witness again.
The thundering drumming of my own beating heart gave my freshly dead and bland reaction a neon personality, with a few extra ********* lingering, successful gestures that reflected a sparkly prism of tracers.
Tracers that were birthed from the most brilliant of lasers, as I was radiating something that was blindingly gorgeous, something that was heightened with more sensitivity as it shadowed over the complexity of every kiss that I had ever been given in my life..
Spinning a silk and gold web around me that was almost as intricate as an alarm sounding earth quake.
This flaccidly tight response came at a price, leaving nothing but whispers and the wrong kind of impressions at the sight of it's unwanted face..
The time of dignity and grace felt decades away as your tiny little temperaments began to attempt to soothe me into a very still silence.
"Wooing" me and "seducing" me with such a strong touch of romantic readiness, I knew it would never be matched or found again causing me to feel a stroke of sadness at the single sentiment.
This dramatic departure killed any interest that might have supported the abortive sorrows and short winded elation’s of men, but instead the idea of a possibly new tasseled dream, sparked me into a shimmering prism bouncing glittering, glimmering, glowing rays off my skin, as I put the shine in the sun.
Oct 26, 2015
Oct 26, 2015 at 3:30 PM UTC