I envy them, him, their love has a pureness seen only in the final pages of old dusty fairytale books, each kiss I believe renders them immortal, spells dispersed and magic created in the enchanted presence of such a love as theirs. Such a simple existence, a moments kiss and passion fills their auras spilling outward, exploding into the melancholy day and yet, a kiss filled with so much desire and not an iota of indecency, as though they are God’s angels, as though their love is blessed by the heavens and coveted in white feathers. They speak with their eyes, knowing glances that say, ‘ill be back soon my love, but in these seconds without you, know only this, I exist for you, for you.’ I envy them, him, her, I envy them.
This is an observational poem on a couple I see almost daily, in the latter part of their lives now they still love each other with a pure depth, she stands at the gate waving till he’s at the end of the road, where he gives her one last wave before he turns the corner… It’s a beautiful thing to watch.
Sometimes, in days past and in mornings wake among busy droplets of lavender and burning skies of dawns glorious lake, She saw tiny glimpses of him, right there. Two souls peaked and primed, watching from afar, tentacles of the unseen, leaving trails of speckled kisses beneath wakeful stars weaved in the essence of man’s mindful tales. Simple eyes see with blind platonic thought beyond aesthetics, raw, unearthed beauty the soft whispers of what a soul has sought light within the pits of reality.
Perhaps souls, eachother had always known, not seeing the physical, they saw home.
… I find it still lurking, that broken fragment at my core. A moralistic demise speckled in broken shards. It is me, an intrinsic scar on my soul. The reflection of my own self belief that can only be bandaged with plasters of lust, not love, kissed with lips of desire, not love… A primal need for a primal scar perhaps…
…but what happens when love comes wrapped in primal kisses. When every bite of carnal sin tastes of ancient love. When every word is a stroke, every syllable is a kiss, every pause… … A thrust of liberated ownership…
… What happens then to the scars of my past, etched within the dark recess of my soul.
On keeps edge a spring breeze dancing through auburn strands of chaos as dawn wakes. Blazen skies igniting over blue horizons white surf kissing day’s promise. Fingers grasping, waves plunging hungrily, mouths searching tide rising lust craving… … gentle blades of grass tickling eyes knowing mouths finding sun ascending bodies descending passion burning losing sense of time within the whirring tides of stars that is Love.
And so woke an envious mind a subtle craving a gentle image grasping at dreams… … the bottle between your hands the glass between your fingers the neck at your lips Your tongue saturated nectar spilling into your mouth and the way your eyes caress her curves seconds before you place the ice cold bottled beer to your lips and she quenches your primal thirst.
A kiss, tender passion filled need as the world twirls as butterflies swirl as you pull me deep within your grasp. Warm lips, wet tongues, tasting, sipping, biting, saliva entwining. Igniting, the imploding need of sacral fires burning, rising, tippy toes, pushing forward, faster, deeper. Two souls alit. Desire, need, lust, fighting to explode, skin a sensory puzzle of excitement, a visual play of energy as the soul becomes the rawest of all erogenous zones, tingling, waking, burning, aching… Kiss me, just fucking kiss me.