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An Old Easy Chair

“What do you want to do tonight?”

“I don’t know,” she answered, “what do you want to do?”

***

Come

sit with me Love

and lay your head upon my shoulder

Your hair spilling into silk soft pools imbued with the scent of heaven

And read passages of a favorite old book long from view

of poetry

Or some verses that you’ve written

But are so seldom now sharing

Not often

For what we do often becomes common

And I should rather look back and treasure these touchstones of you

For not all life is wild passion on the bed

Though these are sweet memories too

But tonight come sit with me,

Just for me

Love

*

For the space of the evening leave off the tv 

and turn the music low.

For I need no distractions from you

as I idly trace the beauty of your face with my fingers

Or run them through the cascade of  your hair.

You

The comfortable I’ve come to know,

that I might softly fall in love with you,

anew,

with stray kisses

that sometimes linger as fair words put to thought might move.

Snuggle in and share the soft and warm of you

Your voice the sound of pouring wine

of which the sonnets but sweeten 

for words transcend time and we are in a timeless place

*

And I would recite cummings

as if from Cyrano to you

Love

(i do not know what it is about you that closes
and opens;only something in me understands
the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)*

And if my heart be true,

banish time and fade the view

away to the deeper things I feel for you

The warm soft press of you

close,

and the book set down to draw you closer

for the moments linger sweeter now in the untold hour.

Tender moments these adrift in the poets depths

following the arc of words sublime,

does not spirit rise in ascent

to sunder mundane and surly thought of the working day,

and day to day,

the common place of everything

for these briefest moments shared

of something more

and taste the language of the bards.

My lips to yours

to stray a kiss where words their thoughts conceived

may lead.

Just come sit quietly with me.

I do not ask for more,

Love

***

*somewhere i have never travelled,gladly beyond

LE. E. Cummings – 1894-1962

Over a Cup of Joe

I am a simple man who dreams simple dreams of complex things
But I dream, that they might be…
…if only for me.

***

I wondered what it might be like if somehow, someday, I had the chance to meet anyone I wanted, anywhere in the world, over a cup of coffee…

***

I’d love the chance to visit with you even if it was only for a moment over a cup of coffee and listen as you went on about this or that, as you liked, and just be carried with the flow.

Small things like the color of your nails or the print of your lips in lipstick upon the cup would remain, like gold, inlaid upon my memory.

I know that, mess that I am, I couldn’t capture all of you. Not just meeting you like this – that you might be mine to hold…

…save perhaps only a gentle squeeze of your hand in parting.

But I hope that you would overlook and understand if my eyes strayed to trace the gentle curve of your face surrounded by the highlights of your hair as it spilled onto your shoulders.

And watched your lips as you spoke, parting and forming every word as if music for my ears alone.

And I?

I would have the wistful thought that they might part for me, as deep calls to deep, and not just treasure the desire they raised – but that I might taste the passion, if for only the briefest touch if they would but brush my lips in parting.

What? What’s that you asked me?

You have me totally distracted…and mischief plays upon your smile.

And I hope you’ll forgive, for I know I‘ll look too long into those eyes of blue-green and if soul could actually call to soul, you’d hear my whispered plea and know…

Silly me –

…and know, that I’ll be caught, fool that I am, staring into your eyes. I’ll try just to look – but too long…the temptations just too great. For all the things I’ve heard, and learned, and thought of you are hidden in their depths and I would find you there.

For I think heaven lives there too.

But who am I to dare to dream such dreams as these? For what could you see in me?

So I’ll not dream of the touch of my hand on your thighs as they part or your breath in my ear as I kiss your neck and slowly, so tenderly work my way down to your breasts ~ for I would have you and all of you – to know every movement and sound, and let these lead me to every desire you’ve longed to have fulfilled.

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To have your body arch to meet mine ~ as aching hunger seeks to meet aching need.

(And I wonder, is the name you would call me in passion the same name you would call me of love? But of these two heavens is certain, either is dearer than friend).

And then, passion spent, to sleep.

And let me wake first to the gentle rhythm of your sleep. Soft morning’s glow filters in upon your peaceful face and I place my hand on your up turned hip and watch the languid rise and fall of your breasts as I wait.

And you blink at my touch, then slowly yawn and stretch as I kiss you and whisper,
“Wake up sleepy head.”

But now I go to far, and dream of another life.

Did I say I’d not dream of things like this?

I lied.

For your eyes conjure this in me.

But I’ll not speak of it as I pay the bill and leave the tip upon the table…and gently squeeze the hand I’ve dreamt of oh so many nights.

Who am I to dream such dreams?

But you inspire me…

…If only over a cup of coffee.

coffee cup 1

Gypsy Soul

I wonder how you would taste, your lips, their softness in their yielding, for surely they must yield before you surrender. Whether in a moan or a kiss, or a mingling of the two, they would part, and in that moment, for me alone, for you are mine. 

And would your blue-green eyes change as you looked at me through the fiery prism of passion, your self laid bare to mine. For yours is a gypsy soul and I am a soul lost in your dance. You lead and I follow as you follow my lead. You are my music and my wine, and nothing is sure here save I long for more.

For is not the sound of your breath music and it’s catch – the sum of every want of need displayed? 

And can I help but drink you in? For beauty is the master of desire, and such is my desire which  burns within as to have and to hold you forever. For in your face I glimpse a vision of a future undreamt til you cast your spell.

Do I say too much or go to far? I think not, for words are slight and vagrant things, carrying neither the weight nor power to say what I truly feel. What is it to speak of love when a look can pierce and a kiss overpower? Still, I would speak to you the sweet nothings of words to please your ears, though you have captured me without a sound.

So should I say more, or better, let our lips meet, perhaps timid in the first touching brush, and say without words what is already being engraved upon the heart, breathlessly searching out every nuance of meaning in exquisite measure before parting in silent agreement. For I perceive that our hearts agree regardless of where our minds may lean, and they too in good time shall follow. For our lips do linger, as does your gaze matched with mine.

And i would that you would linger with me as you do in my heart ~

mine.

Smiles

I’ve thought of you today. Too much goes on, time flies too soon, and yet, you come unbiden and I stop and smile… 

I write and I think, if only moments were you and not just words on a page. My words cannot capture you and the moments slip away.

And this hope is born daily of my dreams of the night. Not always or often but still, when you come, dreams are a sweeter place. There where wish and longing and hope intertwine – and in that timeless place within where dreams are real and real is false, you move and speak til dawn and hope is born anew.

…and my hope is, somewhere, sometime, that you’ll think of me – and you’ll stop and you’ll smile too.

dreams2