Awake

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. 

Karen Hayward ©2018
Image and words
#sonnet

Photo

When lust comes wrapped with golden bows

… 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.

Karen Hayward ©2018
Image and words

Photo

The whirring tides

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.

Karen Hayward ©2018

No claim to image

His.

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.

Karen Hayward ©2018
Image and words

Photo

The unity of sex

It’s about control.
My control over you,
over external stimuli,
it’s about navigating
my pleasure zones,
taking them cliff edge
and jumping, naked,
abandoned into an
angry sea of lust.
Its about power,
swinging the kinetic
pen-
du-
lum
in favour of me,
of you,
of me,
of you.
It’s nature’s force
rising within,
screaming obscenities
into the silent sky.
It’s about embracing
taboos,
painting them
across my torso,
mapping them
across my hip,
kissing them deep into my existence.
It’s about liberation,
those shackles that bind,
the ropes that burn,
the belt that reddens
The hands that restrain…
It’s about losing sight
and gaining… Sight
Being led into
temptation and
made to feed.
To gorge on sin
To devour whimsical
wishes, its about
control… My control
in your hands, my
power in your fingers
My need in your kisses
My desire in your strokes
My passion burning in your eyes
It’s all about trust
Power/ trust/ control
Yours… Mine…
They are the same
Its about unity.

Karen Hayward ©2018
Image and words

Photo

A calm

…and there before me is the distant echo of eternity,
whispering through vines, skipping past branches
and I am lost in a hue of blue sky and soft white clouds.
My vulnerability on show, my wild streak at rest,
tamed amidst the gentle breeze of love. I am raw
and I am naked but the dress I wear and I am childlike,
the damsel, the rose and the finest petals…
and I am the purest crystal and the
finest china with a vintage glaze, cracked
and worn. But I am free here among the trees.

Karen Hayward ©2018

A million shards of shattered self.

He embraced me, with my heart in pieces,
his fingers held me tight within his grasp,
collected up the fragments
and put them high upon a shelf.
He didn’t try to fix me, said, I was perfect
as I came. Still, his love became the glue
and the pieces spelled his name.
I found lust among his kisses, a primal
calling of a mate, and strength within
his arms that surround me late at night.
He’s the passion in my essence, the power
in my voice, the gentle loving kisses
he is my every choice. I gather up his
pieces and take him as he comes
in lust, desire, love and need,
I know he is the one.

Karen Hayward ©2018

No claim to image.