This is the shorter and original poem of the final version found on the Erotic Poetry page.

I would feed you mussels, one by one.
And later, dessert on figs, 
teased open with the tongue.
Then a bit of Belgien chocolate, 
first warmed upon my tongue, 
shared with yours and melted more 
hints at ecstasy to come... 

My ears have fallen prisoner to you,

not by force or of chains,

but by power of your words.

Thus having stolen my heart away,

I am yours.

My soul has fallen prisoner to you

not a struggled surrender,

but by your tender murmur.

Thus having stolen my heart and soul away,

We are yours.

"A night of cold
and darkness drear
precedes the dismal dawn
and morning light
is of the night
and like a curtain drawn

Sometimes life
is of the night…

...of strangled grief..."

                      you wrote.

~

Sometimes life so like the night,
seems dark with fear and cruel,
yet hope, like stars that glitter bright
does pierce its veil through.

My beloved resides within my heart,
shining through all the fears,
brightens the night like diamond stars,

and with tenderness endears.

Be still, dear heart, be bathed in light!

Though here on earth, so far apart,
our souls are eternally entwined -

brilliant spirals of pulsing stars.

May welling tears be turned to joy
to mingle with those of mine -

one day together for all the rest

no longer a distant dream.

Soul’s Tome

No night passed when we did not need

to bind our hearts on tender dreams

of meetings on another plane -

Love is written upon the soul

No day gone spent when inner fire

burned no lesser than lust’s desire

written in letters of purest flame -

the body is the soul’s own tome

A caress, a touch though feather light

burns my skin with ardent fire

traces there such passionate needs -

expresses there soul’s whispered words

Love is written upon the soul

the body is its private tome

there expresses its whispered words

and binds two hearts on loving dreams.

To you I wouldst lift mine veil....

and await you within

my refugium tent of silk,

with but little resistance,

with but much trust

though hesitance betrays

a shyness of own will...

which in your presence

would be gusted away

like wind on dust.

I would…

How would I kiss you?
Let me describe the ways -

I would hold your gaze with mine
as I approach the corner of your mouth,
then softly kiss you there

I would kiss your eyes, one by one,

with my fingers tease your chest

and press closer into your warmth

I would inhale the scent of your hair,

drawing a draught of you deeply

into my being, into my heart

I would move to your ear and linger...

whispering your name with

the warmth of my breath,

then softly kiss you there

I would kiss, lightly as a hush,

your cheek, then very slowly

returning to your mouth pause,

then brush it with my burning lips

Then softly I would kiss you there,

press you closer into my warmth

into my being, into my heart

and savour the aching anticipation

that wells in throbs within,

the want of more of you...

To a Friend

Would but a touch remove past pain,

would but a word soothe your soul, 

then I would blanket with warm embrace

with whispered comfort 'til dawn unfolds.

This poem is the result of a little daydream...a troubador perhaps could have written this about his lady love.

Upon My Breast

Gingerly, gingerly she layeth to rest

her noble head upon my breast.

Quivering, wondering, I raise her chin,

questioning her eyes and thoughts within.

Heart so thundering, so longing it aches,

wanting so much, demanding to take . . .

Afraid, surprised for this nearness at last

yet knowing to wait, 'tis the greatest task.

Embrace so ardent, our breaths but one,

her heart pounding under my hand.

Our closeness, her nearness, yet distance is there,

I yearn to but kiss my lady's fair breast.

Would that I could press my soul into hers!

Ah, but to wait - for deepest embrace

is this, indeed the hardest task.

How I yearn to while by my lady's fair breast.

Warming Salve

The only poetry I shall ever read,

are those lines, so precious

that you from your heart have freed

The only visions I wish to see,

are those once hidden in depths

of your eyes . . . found mirrors of me

The only thoughts I wish to have,

are those so filling and warming

for my soul a salve.

Pantoum Poetry info  Moonlit Steps

This next is my first pantoum poem, an experiment in this cyclic Malaysian form of structured poetry. Another pantoum is on the Mèlange page, Abondaned Room and Business Schemes.  Pantoums lend themselves by their very nature to haunting themes.  The following links are very helpful for learning about this style.   (Vespertine by Ann Johnson is one of my favourites.)

Sagan-Pantoum    Ann Johnson

Moonlit Steps

Once we shared a midnight supper,

by moonlight it was, on the steps

leading down to the sea.  You promised

never to forget that night.  You smiled, remembering . . .

By moonlight it was, on the steps.

I would remember such things of past.

Never to forget that night, you smiled.  I remember

you gathered courage to brush my hand.

I would remember such things of past  . . .

so long ago, yet was but yesterday.

You, gathering courage, brushed my hand . . .

that unsure smile chased uncertainty.

So long ago, yet was but yesterday

when we warmed ourselves with caresses and

that unsure smile chased uncertainty.

Gentle you were and pointed to stars

when we warmed ourselves with caresses.  And

leading down to the sea you promised . . .

Gentle you were and pointed to stars

as we shared a midnight supper

by moonlight.  It was on the steps

leading down to the sea we promised.

Never to forget that night, I smile remembering

that once.  We shared a midnight supper.

(This pantoum could end with the fifth stanza, however a sixth stanza is optional.)

Staccato

Staccato, staccato

on wooden floor beats,

flamenco’s shoes,

expressive feet.

tak TAKA tak TAKA

tak TAKA takTAK

a rhythmic tide,

passionate heat.

Dangerous eyes

like daggers seek,

locked to each other’s…

volumes they speak.

Staccato, staccato

the heels a blur…

Dare one utter

demeaning slur?

tak TAKA tak TAKA

tak TAKA takTAK

Two lovers duel

a passionate pace.

A flash, not her smile -

knife’s dual blade,

in death’s embrace

in silence, they fade.

As one they slip

to wooden floor.

Staccato, Staccato. . .

heels speak no more.

‘Staccato-rapid, clipped sound or speech’  here in this sense referring to a flamenco dancer’s rhythm achieved through rapid foot work and intense concentration.  Flamenco style of dance is not really represented here in Valencia as all areas here in Spain have their own dance folklore.  Without going into vast history, Flamenco – the Spanish gypsy’s dance is found in the south, in Andalusia with its rich Arabic culture.  Many Spanish snub the dance and resent that the rest of the world actually believes it to be the national dance that everyone dances in every village here.  Many outsiders demean it, tourists often are rude or have their fun at it.  (Though not the true aficionados.)  It is a dance of tremendous pride in the face of poverty and oppression and represents tremendous respect of expression.  It is often, a form of social or private therapy, long before ‘therapy’ became a label.

It is a passionate dance, expressing mostly the pain and sadness of life and of course the relationship between woman and man.  This is not to say the dance has no room for the fun part of life…however, back to the story. 

Two lovers representing all the possible dynamics of a relationship-passion, power, unfaithfulness, inability to be together through whatever reasons, mistrust, jealousy…

One decides to forever bond with the other.  The dual bladed dagger is one bound at both hilts, blades at opposite ends…a last embrace commits dual suicide or suicide/murder.  

I am interested in your guess.  Contact me through the home page (Critique or Roses).  Which is it and was it a surprise for the other?  Who initiated it? 

TOP