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.

A symphony of love…

A tune so subtle,
melodious energy
igniting in each note,
Twirling a tango,
Willing a waltz
the clumsy stepping
of my whimsical
soul, bells
ringing to Pans beat.
A rhythm
of ancient telling
Lust rising,
love swelling.
And his soul knows my tune,
whistles a perfect song
Plays my body like a flute,
fingers teasing,
Lips caressing,
tongue defining…
And he is the drummer
My skin, his instrument
He beats in rapid strokes
A deep chorus of pleasure
Spilling across atoms..
And he is the saxophone
songs of old dancing
among raindrops
as the moon kisses
my skin…
And he is the song
the beat,
the rhythm
the silence
the rise the fall…
For he is the one
that knows
the ancient
composition
of my soul..
He is my
symphony
of love,
my piano music
Ebony and ivory
in perfect
unison.

Karen Hayward ©2018

Image and words

Pure as much . . .

img_20160113_154733

Would you? Momentarily
pull me in close, stem
the void of noise, imbue upon
me the soft silence of
sanctuary. Validation,
such an annoyance of
need, desired yet stubborn
denial, fierce, yet. . .
vivid rainbow of chaos
hides pale technicolor
aura. I am gentle as
much fierce, soft as
much hard, pure as much
erotic. Paused breath
I breathe in silent wisps
reading the world through
silent eyes. Would you?
Hold me as the Sun ascends,
descends, glittered trails
of desire lost in woken’s
wake, I hear now the
ebbing flow of life’s
ethereal lake, and some days,
some days I am the lioness,
the wolf, the flames of Hells
fire and the essence of
desire that burns
within me. But other days
I am merely the falling
petals of the tuberose
delicate, fragrant,
pure, essence lost without
protection from the
elements.

Karen Hayward (c)2017
Image and words

Would Satan light another flame.

If for a moment the cage door fell open,
freedom at my tired feet, would I fly?
Soar above the clouds feeling the sun’s heat upon my porcelain skin?
Would I hell.
I’d search the flaming skies for sin,
let passion reign and finally win.
I would scour my days for a moments touch,
devour your soul without a moments rush.
If the iron shackles that hold me down,
fell and once again I was how I came,
would life become a dangerous game?
Would I hunt without thought,
for the prey I have sought.
Would I look, would I be,
feel only what I see.
Would my guides hang their heads in shame,
would Satan light another flame?
And would every angel know my name?

Karen Hayward ©2016