When love tastes so good damn pure …

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.

Karen Hayward ©2018
Image and words

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.

Jittery kisses

The smouldering kiss of suppressed
thought, silent flames, burning
memories, (inse) ‘curities fueling
the empty hours that were once
seconds. The vile shadow of intent
for all thoughts have a root, all
words have cause and I feel for the
distant tug of space beyond
prostitution of the flesh. But alas,
some pages we rewrite in frenzied
passion and label it liberation,
erasing our markings with the
over chewed end of a HB pencil
till pages are torn and the canvas
becomes a hue of melancholy grey.

Karen Hayward ©2017

Image and words

The smoldering kiss of suppressed
thought, silent flames, burning
memories, (inse) ‘curities fueling
the empty hours that were once
seconds. The vile shadow of intent
for all thoughts have a root, all
words have cause and I feel for the
distant tug of space beyond
prostitution of the flesh. But alas,
some pages we rewrite in frenzied
passion and label it liberation,
erasing our markings with the
over chewed end of a HB pencil
till pages are torn and the canvas
becomes a hue of melancholy grey.

Karen Hayward ©2017

A touch of Dawn on your lips…

img_20160327_183715.jpg

Your words wear a touch of dawn

in the evermore of their intent.

May I kiss them and taste the

essence of golden sunlight

upon your skin? Oh, to

be those warm rays that caress

awake your soul. May I kiss

them? Follow the trail of heat

as it climbs across your naked

form, as the dawn whispers

her lasting love to to the

moon on his descent. . .

You have a touch of dawn upon your lips,

may I kiss you?

 

Karen Hayward ©2017

How many soul mates have kissed your lips 

#positivelyprompted (The dream scene)
Art by Miro Hirano

How many souls have intimately
known your touch as you searched
through the faces for the Queen to
your thrown?

How many seeds of lust abandoned
on the summer breeze that held you
captivated momentarily.

How many wishes, counted, whispered
and forgotten so we could travel
this path untrodden.

How many I wonder, seedling soul mates fell short at our feet as we tried in vain to hear the whispers of an ancient memory.

How many soul mates have touched our lips as we searched through the universe for a true loves wish, as we searched through lovers for each other’s kiss.

Karen Hayward ©2017