Kisses on the dawning sun.

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As your alarm rings,
I would reach out
my hand to your skin,
grasp at your fingers,
embrace the last of
your sleep that lingers.
I would swallow down
my souls tug and use a
smile to hide my frown.
My lips would eagerly
devour the warmth of your
essence, kissing, greedily
the canvas of your form.
I’d curse the shortness of night
and the coming of morn.
I’d search the depth of your eyes
for a moment’s need sustained,
love spilling as the endless skies
passion radiating, desire burning
alarm ringing, bodies entwining,
souls yearning, I’d kiss you,
good morning.

Karen Hayward (c) 2017

Epitome of poetry.

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I shall whisper to you devotion,

proudly name you as my own. I

shall fill your mind with desire,

my eyes aglow,

need reflecting lust.

I shall tease you, momentary

lapses in time, shared delights.

Abandoned rules of the norm…

I shall fill your heart with the

ink of love…so you can write

poetry across my bare skin,

fingers tracing freckles, your palm

stroking my exsitence beneath

utterances of archaic need, words

of passion seeping into my soul.

Together we will become the

epitome of poetry.

Karen Hayward ©2017 Words.

Michael J. Garland ©2017 Image.

 

Give to me.

Give me an open fire with flickering flames,
Soft cushions on the floor where we lay.
A little something in a Crystal glass
To keep us warm, so this moment can last.
Give me clear skies and twinkling stars,
As we lay together beneath the dark
On whispered thoughts and echoed sighs
Let time here never fly.
Trail your fingers across my milky skin,
Your eyes the camera, your mind the film.
Capture me in my rarest form
As your touch creates this storm.
Let me leave an invisible trail upon you,
A forgotten memory that you can hold true.
I’ll write in fingers, in tongues and in taste,
But not for a moment will I do it in haste.
Give me an open fire with flickering flames,
Lay soft cushions on the floor where we can lay.

Karen Hayward ©2016.

The dust of diamonds, sprinkled on our naked skin.

Laying naked on the white cotton sheet,
A rising heat.
I think
About
Your
finger
Tips,
Tracing
The contour of my back.
Whilst we talk, idly through
the glow,
Discover the things we yearn to know.
Whilst the
clear whole moons light,
Dances through the night,
leaving footprints on our skin.