The taste of you spilling.. 

I want to know the look
in your eyes when you
are drunk on passion…

… And the taste of your
Kisses when you are
drowning in lustrous sin.

…I want to know the feel
of your fingers clawing
through pools of desire…

… And the essence of your
soul as it spills within.

Karen Hayward ©2017

Image found on pinterest. 

Befalling lost essence…


When I search, my eyes befall an empty page,
stained in lustrous thoughts of yesteryear,
Swimming deep in oceans of passions rage.
Signed with forgotten wishes craving you near.
When I look darkness suffocates my naked form,
Plunging me through desirous gates
Skin ravaged by kisses on this bright new morn,
A yearning so deep I can wait no more…

I watched you chase my words across the skies
colored deep with passionate blues
I remember when I was always lost in your eyes
no way out, but still looking for any clues
all i wanted was to hold you tight
but held hostage by different colored hues
still lurking desperate in the dark night
because the pages were empty of the news
once mine.. kisses led you there
to those scenes we created with ecstatic flair
then locked in desirous embrace
we became one.. and melted into space..

Karen Hayward and Michael Montoya ©2017


Summer dreams.


Skin wore the essence of summer,
Kissed by waves, embraced by currents
A taste of salt and golden glitter.
Hair a tangled web of curls
Yellow weaves of Destiny
ocean eyes deep and fierce.
Those days were our making,
Druid souls seeped in Poseidons kingdom.
Bare foot stamping our mark upon this world,
etched forever into spirits
energised by Helios,
soothed by Selene
caressed upon those shores
by the oceans ebbing love.

Karen Hayward (c) 2017
Image and words


That curve
Is energy cascading
across me,
through me.
Look how
your essence falls
upon me,
Like a cashmere
gently caressing
the tilt of my chin.
The simplicity of
a sensuous scent
Lustrous intent
erotic content.
That curve licking,
kissing, stroking
exploring, traversing
the very contours
of my mind.
A treasured find,
One of a kind.
That curve of your
tongue as words
form, escaping your
lips that beg me
always for one
tiny kiss.

Karen Haywrd (c) 2017