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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.


Forgive me,
if my lips find yours,
for this puckered flesh
of mine, searches
for a continuously
kissable romance.

Mirror my heart
with your good beauty,
and please
eclipse my soul;
burn my retina
of all foul thoughts
and leave only room
for compassionate intent
towards both you
and your smile.

Make certain
I never regret
these moments vast,
and even when your hair
does not brush against mine,
and your hands
are absent for me to hold,
a part of you
beats within my decisions,
and I am always happier
for this.

Despite any distance
that may come between
these depths of emotions,
the sun shines
upon the both of us,
and in it, our energy
is transferred across
the light, shot like an arrow
into our chests,
for never are we truly far away.

Shangri La

Alas, you have come to claim defeat,
to which there is no answer,
says the voice of troubled reason,
and thus, I leave so discontent.
I am no chummy conversationalist,
but if I were to look at you like the Goddess,
as the dawn breaks on the cusp
of a beautiful morning, with dew settling
in upon the leaves, glistening
under the light, and birds chirping
happily, singing awake the Shangri La
of Spring, would you confess
an appreciation towards these eyes,
which dance across your beauty?
Let us be honest for a moment,
in this hall of monsters, what titles
do you have which I do not,
that prevents me from touching
the curvature of your silk heart?
I hardly expect a response
from someone such as yourself,
who has been granted everything
by the grace of Godly beings,
and only now in your presence,
do I realize the foolish extreme
I have gone to, in the hopes
of calling your love my own.
But if happiness were to abound
for one decent moment, may your footprints
fall upon the path, so I can one day
follow once you have readied
yourself for my affection. If my wish
were to be granted your acceptance,
I would wait for aeons, before the realization
your love would not arrive collapsed
atop of me, and any moment afterwards
would not prove early enough
to spell an adoring future, the toxic
memories of lonesomeness
filling me with doubt, until, in your absence,
I forget the feelings I once had.
Sadly it is too late for me. Do not waste
your words or tears upon my fractured
existence, for I am already dead
inside, and no amount of kindness
will ever sympathize with the ever growing pain
of never knowing how your lips
taste upon my own.

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.

Unquenched Thirst

My unquenched wish to reach the unreachable
is obtained within your diamond eyes,
your irises delivering unto me a paradise
of supreme import. I become so immensely more powerful,
and yet, in the moment of such a rushing spasm,
my adrenaline wanes and I am relieved
of all my strength and left a weaker soul.
I realise the man I wish to become,
and all the beauty in the universe
I wish to bestow at your feet,
but this glorious destiny of mine
is always so regrettably far away.
If only I could mount the tight rope
towards my romantic wants,
and acquire my blessed infinite desire,
but sadly, I shall forever succumb to the tragic notion
that I am beneath your supremely gorgeous existence.

The Art of Dying Well

Close the lid on this detrimental world,
where a grandiose scheme of insidious measures
blizzards forth across this terrain.
What beautiful corpse
shall I make of me
as to turn the atoms of my flesh
into a state of wholesome elegance?
When death grasps hold
of the fruitless melody
which dictated through chortling teeth
my life, shall I be gifted again
with the opportune prerogative
to endure the mistakes
which brought me to this standstill
if my cadaver is indeed attractive?
When collapsing from where my feet
held firm the decisions
of my circumstantial woes,
shall my memories be of beauty,
so unapologetic and serene,
or the embers of corroded ash
which once comprised the foundations
of my many misplaced principles?


If you wish, you can view a reading of this poem at the following link: Hope you enjoy guys!

What line was supposed to pass these lips;
I have forgotten. I have forgotten too,
if I could move continents, to escape
the bullet of broken glass, plunged into my soul,
no heart beat would last too long
between decision, and surrender.
I was whole and complete,
but this I have forgotten too,
my soul succumbing to the touch
of gentle bribery, the sweat on your palm
that you have tethered to my face
being the ambrosia I have desired
for longer than words can caliber.
You whisper into me, the beating of a passion
so inducing, I become comatosed
in a wet dream, drowned in an ocean
of wicked delights, whose pleasures
reveal themselves when the silver moon
sheds its veil and stares longingly into the darkness,
and onto our duvet. ‘Do you love me?’
I ask, between choking on tears,
held back by the damming construction
within my mind, that wishes for you
to never see the softer side
of this weaker denizen of man.
Upon a sea of angelic feathers, my romance,
ever blissful, has flown, your response
to my question, which renders Hamlet moot,
requiring an immediate appearance,
before I collapse into the sultry sweat
of delusion. Your answer, with its many tendrils,
ensnares my cultivated attention
evermore, and with but a word,
you become the Goddess of our seven continents,
rendering the other women,
forgetful images of my mind,
destined not to be remembered.
Without sexual synergy, we remain
inexcusably entombed in a shroud
of fortunate purpose, the touch
of your fingers on my cheek
being the entire collection of love sonnets,
penned by Shakespeare’s hand.
Your voice, so undoubtedly serene,
deserves nature’s ownership,
so it may forever play on the breeze,
the lyrics of your serenade
belonging inside the ears of all.
Your center, a moist pleasurable locale,
dripping with erotic trepidation,
ravishes my senses without even a single touch,
the sight of your nude form
deserving only to be strummed by my hand.
So, I ask again, what fell forth
from between my lips before; ‘do you love me?’,
and I die in your arms
from this orgasm, as I do every evening
that begins with the deflowering
of our perspiration’s sweat.

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.

The Necessary Lie

I am that terrified man
the people witness upon
the street; haunted by
the potential death of a dream
that he wished to have come
to fruition, but never did receive.
I loved with an unstoppable
emotion, contained within
my heart of hearts, for if you
were a collectable my dear,
like a trading card and such,
never in all my years
would I consider giving you up.
But these feelings, like a specter,
they remain undetected,
because there is a force
so mighty, halting my heart’s
voice from dominating the airwaves.
I do not believe in honesty,
for the truth would hurt
your heart, and instead of seeing
so much clearer around
every turn, you would feel so uneasy
at the thought of laying
eyes on me once more.
Lying may be sinful,
and leave your heart bereft
one day, but tomorrow
it will do nothing short of relieve
you of all pain, so you may
be the woman you were
always destined to become.
To ensure the promulgation
of this eventuality,
I go without the woman
who could do me good,
for you deserve more than
my hand upon your shoulder
or my love within your heart;
you deserve a life of beauty,
and my very existence
is the opposite of everything
I would ever want for you.
And so, with this thought
in mind, I convince myself;
you don’t want my love;
you don’t want me, neither
of which could ever satisfy
your soul. The sparkle
in your eye shall dissipate
when you look to me
with the truth on your mind,
belittling you so, like a morbid
plague, and to avoid
this circumstance, a lie
is thus necessary.