Walk with me, match my stride, ease my energy into yours.
There’s something at play in the design of your form, something at play in the way mine has found yours.
Here. Hold my hand, please. The length of your arm, the way my palm rests against yours, no bend in my wrist, no need to adapt to the bones of our fingers. See how we fit.
My thumb moves over and over yours, back and forth, a tender stroking, sometimes a press- the pad of my finger, just one tiny thumbprint on the vast trail of nerves on your entire surface and you detect it, you pause to try and see through my eyes some detail I am adding to our shared memories. We see together, feel together, in this dance of response.
I didn’t choose your bones, your skin, your hands; they chose mine.
Count on me. Let me fall asleep tracing the lines of my lover.
#for Reticent Mental Property. Participating for the first time in WordPress Daily prompts. August 3, 2016.
When you are satisfied,
broad strokes applied,
brushes cleaned, palette scraped bare,
her likeness captured on canvas,
a lingering, sensual memory.
When silken robe has been returned
to fair skin, tied closed by your hand-
phone me then.
Let me hear your voice,
your soothing, sultry tones echoing from an empty upper room,
oh, please let it echo,
in my hand,
across all these miles,
Time holds lovers captive more tightly than the rest of the universe; while the artist’s hours are lost in translation.
#for Reticent Mental Property. Images courtesy of the web and http://art-7.com/category/artists/saidov_aydemir/
Feel me, soak me in.
I am on the other side of your tomorrows where I’ve been all along. Each life you live brings me back to you again.
I arrive on a new dawn’s mist and dangle the memory of us in the dewdrops you scatter as you take your morning walk through your woods.
I am present in your poetic musings, my image camouflaged in the leafy boughs overhead, only visible to your naked eye when the smell of earth rises from your heels and grapevine ropes tie your fantasies to altars in open fields of wildflowers.
The laughter of my smile escapes across the years. It tweaks the tip of your nose with my playful breath, communicating with you through your nature- language.
I am the colours of touch and taste and taking.
I have been there in the melting of your winter into springtime’s muddied muse.
I have been there in the unfolding of the blossoms and the fragrant heaving of nature’s breast as she exhales spring, then summer, then fall.
I have been there in the prisms of the ice biting your face as you taste the fresh snow fall on your tongue.
When you finally turn to the rise of the sun- having given up waiting until the evening’s end to take in the patient beauty of the settling in, the created comfortable cozy of the life you live- you recognize my scent. Then you truly see me, suspended there, where I am, have always been, a gentle reflection of your pain and your pride and your duty. I am your playful passion, one who survives in the mirrored water of your wanderings through lucid dreams; my reflection somehow the same as your own.
I am hearing your every want, have always been listening.
#for Reticent Mental Property.
I know a man who photographs his wife in various stages of undress. His eye is kind to her, though admittedly, she is lovely and lean and in love. Perhaps with him, yes.
She is his muse and the only woman he allows to model for him.
She clearly has his attentions and feels beautiful in his gaze and trusts he sees her in the most positive way. Together, stretched across the bed with ankles intertwined and sheets wet with her scent, they select photos and alter them and share with hopes to elicit responses and commentary.
Exhibitionists of the most loving kind, he feeds her mind with positives and she feeds his by modeling what he wishes to see her wear…or not wear.
It’s all about the exchange… whatever the gift is, it is given with openness, uninhibited because of trust and a willingness to give pleasure in whatever way pleases the other.
And with the incoming breathy responses her confidence continues to grow and his boldness and desire increases, and together, they find such peace and reward in the joining.
How trusting she was to model the French lingerie he bought for her. She willingly snapped the photo, sent it along to distract him during meetings or early in the dawn when she texted her daily good morning to him. He was the type to tell her which panties to wear each day- maybe the thong or the red silk, often the lovely white sheer ones with gold embroidery. And sometimes, none.
#for Reticent Mental Property, with image credit to TheVancouverSun, 2011.
The apple tree waits in the garden with limbs outstretched, her unpicked sweetness bared to nature’s wants, offering sustenance to the wild and unsettled visitors wandering through her woods.
Mother nature is making music of the frozen fruit, dancing with slippered toes, leaving white footprints of frost as she preserves fall’s heat.
Winter, he is strong, powerful, morphs wetness into wonderment, traps white hot desire until the solstice wakes his lover and returns her to his bed for a fleeting embrace. Winter’s muse stretches her dewy limbs further each new day after the solstice. With the gentle budding breasts of springtide, she thrusts her fragrant desire forward to claim the bursting, thirsty sunlit mornings, gently consuming Winter’s handiwork, and not shy about taking more.
She is already poised on the cusp of spring- if she may have her way.
#For Reticent Mental Property with photo credit to Ret and the Nature God.