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.

Velvet heels.


Her toes embraced the
rubbed velvet interior
of her heels. Deep black
speckled with a glimpse
of the universe, A four inch
ascent to the heavens
she floated with an ancient
female elegance.
I glanced carelessly at the
way her delicious calf curved
delicately as the surrounding
air caressed her barely
tanned skin.
She didn’t need the heels
or the silver grey skirt that
hugged the curves of her
arse and little more,
and as she tripped
I’m sure even she regretted
her choices.

Karen Hayward ©2017
Image found on pinterest

The door slam.

You ever had your hand hover so close to 

the door you can feel the breeze whizzing 

across your face in anticipation for the slam? 

You ever tire of expecting respect from a world 

so self imposed, they can’t even see it is their

own fair hands that are tainted in the blood

that will carry them to the devil’s door?

Have you ever felt that lunge as the rope 

tugs you down and you turn to see the

devil smirk ..and oh how I wish

I could say the rose tinted glasses 

of her mate…but have you ever felt that 

knowing of being purposefully second, 

the fall back guy when the world 

collapses not worthy  to stand at 

their side….or behind ..or in front  

Just the empty echo within a shadow of a shadow. 

You ever felt the dirty stench of a smirk 

emitted from the puppeteers lips?  Soon 

after their well crafted words of guilt,

shame and display of visual imagery.

Oh but the dance of vanity a tango for two. 

You ever felt that cool breeze across 

flushed cheeks as the door slams shut?
Karen Hayward ©2017 image and word’s
A poem based on a combination of observation, infj personality trait ‘the door slam’ and reflection.