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Vibrant Red and Gorgeous

When the words ‘I love you’
are announced from between those lips
of yours, so vibrant red and gorgeous,
dripping with untamed passion,
I realize all the beauty in the universe
exists only at your feet, and where you stand
is the origin of much gracefulness,
which I long to travel through.

There is little left in me
to fend against the attractive qualities
of your physique and mind,
your personality, wit and charm,
being aspects of your eternal beauty
I long to hold within these arms of mine,
whilst I run my fingers through your hair.

Your voice makes love to mine,
exposing my weaknesses
every moment in which we meet,
my selfish desire to have you all to myself
being revealed so easily,
I cannot help but fault my heart
for falling so unconditionally for you.

I am no liar in love,
as I lie semi-conscious
in the endless field of desire,
bleeding on the bladed petals
of the many roses I longed to secure
for you alone. I am tempted by no other
in the harsh existence of romance,
waiting on your call like a meth addict,
awaiting his next fix.

I secretly cry when experiencing evenings alone,
needing, rather than wanting,
to have your body pressed against my own,
the lack of caution presented to me
in my younger years, scaffolding the courageous lust
I produce daily, like sweat, eagerly anticipating,
with anxiety strained limbs, the moment
I meet your Heavenly gaze once more.

With your bosom, pressed agaisnt my own,
the breath billowing through your lungs
existing similarly to mine, as we lie upon my mattress,
seething after hours of enjoyment.
Your flesh is heartier than any sun,
warming my unwavering conviction on freezing nights,
when icicles threatened to appear upon my person.
I cannot confirm if our relationship
is like the others happening right now,
but I can guarantee, I won’t regret having loved you,
even if you leave, for every memory is a banquet,
that ought to be gorged eternally.

My Love Affair For You

If a stranger dares to read
the words tattooed upon this page,
it should be known that never
was the vocabulary I instruct
like an orchestra, designed to fill
their heads, but the mind
of one particular damsel, and Ma’am,
you know who its is you are.
Wrought iron could perhaps pull
those eyes of yours towards
my lonely heart, so for once
you might just notice me,
rather than viewing a vacant space.
But how could this ever be?
Broke; boyfriend; beyond
my reach; yeah, you’re my type.
A city gal from the north east
suburbs, swept up in the anarchy
of life, the swift switchblade
of political opinion never ceasing
to blow apart the softness
of your desperate youth.
With a history of abuse
and neglect, alongside an upbringing
that tastes similar to my own,
you might just happen to get me,
if only I had your attention.
Looking at your bruises now,
some shinier than others,
I find myself beyond surprised
your sanity has remained intact.
If however, I were to say I love you,
would you fling the flowers
I bestow upon you at my feet;
would you be unable to notice beauty
in a world you believe
to be quite damned? If I were beautiful
like Christy Mack; if I could dance
like Louis Spence; if I could write
like Alfred Tennyson; if I were heroic
like General Norman Schwarkopf;
would any of this matter? You,
who are always so difficult to please,
and like a book, its pages stuck together,
so difficult to read,
the languages you speak being barely
comprehensible, despite our vernacular
being the same. You, who is often
sleeping with another man
when I have the urge to hold you
in my arms, and place my lips
on yours. You, who disappears
so suddenly, like fumes, but reappears
like a rainbow once I have
pushed you like a pimple,
out from beneath my skin. I however
would never wish to close my eyes
and dream myself away,
to a universe absent of your existence,
for I long to have you
serenade me to sleep with the melody
of a monogamous affair. I would ravish
so happily, the remains
of your affection, molded by the sand
storms parading through the halls
of time, your life, a combination
of events our of your control.
But when my eyes travel
over every inch of you,
from the curvature of your ankle
to the blossoming follicles
in your hair, there is no part of you
not worthy of sanctuary
and preservation in my heart,
for every time I look at you,
my ears are listening to Heaven.
Along the way to the destination,
entombed at the ending
of this piece of poetry, I adopted
the words of better men
to best describe my feelings,
each of which I have made my own
from the uniqueness
of my love affair for you.

To Woo

A reading of the poem can be found here: Please enjoy!

Head straight, stand tall, broad shoulders,
shave off all the hair
that is located on your head.
Work out, large muscles, bulging biceps,
they are all out of steroids.
Straight teeth, good eyes,
remove your spectacles, wear contacts.
Tattoos, piercings, resume should list
tonnes of evening experience.
Sociable, polite, but fair,
heroic and entertaining.
Well dressed, wealthy,
smooth accommodations.
Does not sound at all like me.
I’m head lowered, back broken,
shaggy like Wolverine.
I sit back, relax, and work out often –
with a knife and fork.
I’m crooked teeth, bad eyesight,
have half my face covered over by glass.
I’m grungy; I’m underground;
I’m beyond antisocial,
my last date was on a calendar.
I’m baggy jeans and a muscle top,
hanging from my limp shoulders.
I volunteer, I work for free,
I reside in an orphaned slum.
Do women really want
this depressed woe
dangling from their arms?
I’m no Brad Pitt, Ryan Gosling,
George Clooney, Chris Evans type.
I’m me, and never shall I be enough
to satisfy the beating heart
of a bachelorette
looking for true love.

To the Beautiful Blonde Haired Woman

Hello stranger, with your blonde hair
beneath your beanie, you captured my
attention with ease. You stand out like
a lonely dream boat at the mercy of the
sea, and if my arms were a lifebuoy, I
would happily sacrifice my existence if
it meant your beauty could live on. But
if I be gone, look upon you again I could
not, and bereft with grief will be my
heart, whether I be alive in this world or
the next, for a world without you in it, is
a world I do not wish to live upon. Your
skin, a ghostly white in colour, looks to
be reminiscent of the cool Antarctic air,
and I would love to hold you in my arms
as to bring the rosy red of heated joy to
those diminished cheeks again. Not to
say your features aren’t extraordinary;
no ma’am, my intent this is surely not,
the rare purity of your ice cold features
putting even a snow flake to shame. Like
a bush burning magnificently in the
wilderness of walled fire, your hair be a
hot blonde in colour, and yet, ironically,
the many strands would be cool to touch,
moving with gusto to every beat of your
stride, like grass gently flowing in the
dewy mountain air. Your smile cuts me
to pieces when there’s that crinkle in
your eye, and like a bladed instrument,
you cut me with your scissors of surprise
that be your brilliantly white teeth, that
you plunge with unknown intent into
the farthest reaches of my soul. I am
shocked light lightning every time I be
witness to your enthralling grin that
delivers upon my mind an indoctrination
from which escape is not an option, but
why would I want to run, when you are
all I have ever wanted? Your voice, like
the soulful melodiers of a decent
harmonica, tastes like a sweet English
apple grown in the winter season,
glistening radiantly to every tone of
your silky speech, like a duvet, wrapped
around the bodies of all who are lucky to
hear that which floats out beyond your
lips, warming our mortal frames whilst
the sun is incognito, hidden behind the
late autumn clouds. Now, if you may,
place a treble clef before this sentence
writ; the polyester of your jacket, that
be the colour of painted Earth, and
those jeans of yours, emboldened by
the sound of raging blue, burns like an
effigy upon the ocean floor, that be
defaced with luminescence. These
colours cannot breathe, but choke, in
the same way that my eyes weep at the
sight of such rare perfection when
admiring your figure, that mirrors the
definition of a sensually relaxing
paradise that any man would be lucky
to explore. The stud within your nose
glistens like solid silver when touched
by the light that glows from up above,
whilst your big eyes, ravishing in
appearance, shine like emeralds, and
the farther from me you are, the brighter
these jewels shimmer. Combined, your
physical frame comes together to create
an image I cannot help but watch with
trepidation, a nervous tick bubbling
up inside me at the thought of seeing
you again. Could I say a word of two
without fear of a reprisal for speaking
with such an honest tongue? My eyes,
with their heart shaped pupils, stare
with lustful longing in your direction,
and never do I wish to lay my eyes
upon anyone else again but you, for
who could possibly contend with the
woman of unimaginable beauty? Ma’am,
I cannot halter my heart’s desire, for
only you be strong enough to conclude
these feelings with but a snap of your
swift fingers. As for me, I would happily
die a million deaths if it meant I could
buy you a coffee when the time for
lunch is served. If want to know the
writer of this verse you do, wait around
when lunch time arrives and I will make
myself apparent; if not, that be your
conclusion of choice, and I shall respect
your decision forevermore.

Hey guys; I wrote this piece a while back for a certain someone. Long story short, she shot my advances down. Anyway, this poem was gathering dust, so I thought I might unveil it for others to read. Hope you guys enjoyed this poem?!

The Rarest Chance

‘X’ marks the spot upon my heart
from where you have touched me
with your voice that ought
to be a permanent feature
in the halls of blessed paradise
due to its unflinching attractive
qualities. I would ride in upon
a steed as to not disappoint
your expectations of a man
with much class and character,
for my heart erratically beats
the moment you appear,
your presence trickling
across my soul every moment
my eyes come across your form.

But this facade is only
ever orchestrated because
I am neither skilled
nor a pleasure to look upon,
and never would my fickle form
be sold to a dazzling young maiden
like yourself. I have seen the men
that all the ladies I have witnessed
come before choose to have
and hold through all the days
of their lives, and I have bawled
my eyes out upon acquiring
the wounded notion
that never would I have that which
these prior men did have granted
to them, to see their dreams

But never did I howl
so loudly with an untold emotion
than the night I realised
I would never have you
with me, for my body heaves
with a passion so intense
at the thought of your love
within my heart; your voice
within my ear; your personality
drifting across my pillowed soul;
your flesh atop of mine.
I adore you my lady (although never
shall you be mine) in a way
that I could never be adored
by you, and so the sound
of wet droplets colliding
with the surfaces of the floor
will reach the ears of many
this night, and all the nights
to come, because to never have you
is the most heinous pain of all.

How could I ever convince
the face of rarest beauty
to lie down beside me in bed
this night and keep my frozen
soul warm as the darkest hours
pass by the windows upon the moon
taking shape in the blackened
world beyond. The stars
in the skies above leave
to an infinite number of worlds,
but no woman on any of them
combined will ever make me tremble
so, with a passionate anxiety,
the way your existence does.
To know that you are out there
this night is enough to give me
pause, for as long as your lungs
breathe, your heart beats,
and your soul lingers upon this here
Earth, there is always the chance,
the rarest chance, that you might
fall in love with me.

Perfectly Paradoxical

They say a picture can tell
a thousand words. If the word
‘love’ could tell a thousand though,
it could never describe you,
for I would need no less
than a million to articulate
your unfathomable beauty.

You make beauty blush with envy,
for never has it met a challenge
it could not compete against.
True beauty however is reduced
to an aging pumpkin the moment
you step out into the light, for you
tear the breath right out
from my lungs just by being
the woman you have become.

I know I love you, just for who
you are, because every action
that transpires by your hand
is as magical as a dream. Every
little thing you do makes you
who you are, and in my eyes
you will never be anything less
than the definition of amazing.

From the way your massive
eyes, like headlights, inquisitively
search your surroundings; the
way every strand of your hair
manages to stay in its exact
location, as though held in place
by the fingers of invisible hand
maidens; the way you on occasion
keep a pen behind your ear
in case you are ever in need of ink.

The way you constantly wear
a beanie or a hooded jumper over
your head, as though your hair
is unworthy of being recognised
by the eyes of strangers; the way
you yawn, by throwing your arms
into the air and opening your mouth
wide, like a lion; the way you
bite your nails, as though your
teeth provide to you, your own
personal pedicure.

The way you wear jeans rather
than dresses, as though you do
not wish to become the male
stereotype of the modern woman;
the way your voice, deep and
intellectual, demands all in your
vicinity to listen to such a harmonic
beat, whilst your accent remains
untraceable; the way your tattoos
and piercings make you seem as though
you do not care, and yet, I would
bet my bottom dollar that you do.

The way your writing is amazingly
flawless and never loses a beat;
the way your opinions are so well
worded and your intelligence so
unimaginable, and yet you so
rarely speak; the way you seem
so popular, and yet at other times
look so incredibly alone.

But most of all, I love the way
you are so unique in everything
that makes you who you are
today, from your beauty to your
posture; you are a walking, talking
paradox, and I will never have enough
of you; nor shall I tire from looking
in your direction because you excel
at being exceptional, and yet,
never will I have the honor
of spending a night with you.

It is no surprise that you have
a paramour you can call your own,
for if I have been captured by
your flawless beauty, it seems only
reasonable that another man would
have been ensnared by your
alluring features. With this written
upon the page, where an envious
tear has fallen, I realise I am not
the man you love today, but,
if I be lucky, perhaps I will be
the man of your dreams tomorrow.

A man can dream, can be not,
and I do not wish to have this
fantasy, no matter how ludicrous
it may seem, removed from my
mind, for it is hope that keeps
me going, and in you I have
found all of the hope that I
shall ever need to live life
the way it ought to be experienced.

The Fallen Feelings of my Heart

I thought I knew what love was
but I didn’t know at all
until I fell for you the moment our eyes met,
and break this spell I never could,
for never was there anything more Heavenly
than in the moments I found my eyes watching you.

Did your hand fall from your wrist
and strike my heart until it was but yours
to hold and to command?
Fell upon your spell I did
in the moment of our chance encounter.
Never did you mean to ensnare me
for I be not a dashingly handsome young man
who could ever offer you the world.

Just as I know the sky is blue
and the grass is green,
I know I am not the man you are looking to spend forever with.
You smile before you retort –
sometimes the grass is yellow
and sometimes the sky is black,
and sometimes, love can be found in the strangest of places,
and tonight, love is in your arms.
These words are of course not of your own,
but of my unconscious delirium
as I find myself awoken a moment later
from a dream, one of which I will neither return to,
in this one, or the world I recently exited.

But I would cry an ocean of tears
if it meant that the liquid which floods
my eyes allows me to see you once more.
Turn to me young lady, just this once,
so my day could be brilliant,
for one look at you will leave me feeling complete.
Rarely do I have the option
of setting my sights on yours,
and what would I not do in my desperate act
to see you again before the day turns to night
and the chance that I crave is gone from me?

If I be not fool enough in life,
then love it seems will bear the brunt of irony’s humour,
for love you do another man,
and soon will come a time when chime do those wedding bells,
but never shall they sing for me and you;
only for you and your beloved.

Like a bottomless pit you are,
and I have fallen into you,
and just like there will be no end
to the breeze that ripples across my clothes,
never will my feelings falter,
and yet, never will you feel nor fall for me.

Early Morning Light

The screeches of the seagulls wake me from
my slumber in the early morning light
as I rush to take the tram into the city.
I sit before a young maiden and weakly smile
at her, and before the carriage that I
occupy is even on the move, she
says without a shadow of a doubt in
my direction ‘you’re beautiful.’ The words
of the damsel are but a sweet melody to
my ears, however, I do believe that this young
seductress may very well be sleep deprived, for
if she was wide awake, surely she would notice
that I am not deserving of her flattery
as she catches me off guard on this occasion,
my appreciation for such a compliment
being conveyed within the smile that I shine towards
her. But like I said, my belief that she be wrong
with her assertion is absolute, for beauty,
with but a flicker of an eyelash, can
have an audience bow down before their
brilliance, and forever be at their
beck and call, kissing their toes as though they
are their deity. If the lords and ladies of
Paradise really walk amongst us mortals, then
the sheer gorgeousness of your features certainly
overshadows mine. But what words can be said to
someone who defies all known description, when the
use of such archaic terms will be nothing more
than a blatant insult upon you? With this writ,
I take but one breath that be deeper than an
ocean trench, and with time as my only known
adversary, I say the words I believe need
saying in the hopes that you will humbly
appreciate my doing so.


I was on the city bound train, not a few days ago,
when I saw a young woman who captivated me so.
She was skinny like a well trained athlete, with the smile of a spectacular queen,
and her purple top and black track pants made my thoughts for her consistently unclean.
Her track pants had the unlikely habit of frequently falling down below her waist,
and I am certain that everyone can imagine what exotic delights I faced
upon the city train. I will say this though; every part of her I pleasurably saw
left me with the insatiably incurable urge to bear witness to so much more.
Perhaps I should have said something? Do people think so? Perhaps I should have spared her dignity?
But why I ask? All women are beautiful, and should embrace their undeniable beauty.
Moreover, if this young woman had but a flaw or two, such certainly did not happen to catch my eye,
but that does not necessarily mean that others saw what I did, or if they noticed something that I
failed to see, like for instance the many scars that ran across the right side of her face,
the origin of such scar tissue being something that not a soul could ever retrace.
Perhaps she was born with them; perhaps there was once a fire; perhaps she one day required surgery;
but either way it don’t matter, for this young lady shall indefinitely remain beautiful to me.

Watcher of the Angel

From afar, I watch you,
I close my eyes and dream – what else can I do?
I ain’t quite good enough
for you. I’m not wise, strong, attractive or buff
like the other guys that you crave.
Perhaps I am not man enough or all that brave,
because I am like a specter
to you; you always see through me to the creature
that I try to hide from everyone,
including myself, but I should have known that someone,
someday, would indeed find my secret;
I only wish it wasn’t you, that’s my one regret.

You have beautiful eyes, a great body;
your unbelievable features have cast a spell over me,
and from the moment that I looked at you,
I’ve been hopeless to resist my urges; do you feel them too?
I only wish you could look upon my face,
and not be disturbed by that which I’ve being cursed with – that which I long to erase,
for you do not ever need to say the words
because I know, believe me I know that I do not belong to any herd,
group, clan or fixture of humanity
because unlike you, I was not bestowed by such unbelievable beauty.
Now I realise, and I can respect
the truth, that looks are not everything, but believe me when I say – you’re perfect.