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Lines of Love Eternal

Who is the unnamed stranger,
that bled all meaning from my life,
and replaced the reason for the beat
inside my chest, with the pleasure
of her company? Is it possible
to live only for someone else,
where oxygen and liquid beverages
are no longer required to sustain a life;
where romance is the only requirement
to waking up every morning?

Am I a thief, for wanting to kidnap
a moment in your life, and share
in its great fortune? Allow me to ask,
might I kindly appropriate the life from you,
and hold your essence to my soul?
To steal a woman’s heart, so warm and plush,
would fill me with much awe,
and although there may be some
who query my intention, let it be known,
love is seldom sensible in its charm,
and if I must become a wreck-loose,
to bathe in all its beauty, then allow the fool
who parades within, to dance outside of me.

Never would you have kissed a man
until you have been kissed by me,
moved across time and distances
by the embodiment of truest love.
Perhaps death has already consumed me,
heart and whole, for angel’s like yourself
rarely venture before my train of vision.
Have I known you already,
for a trillion years, or is it your lips,
which sing to mine, that call me home at last?

To be absent of your affection
would leave me fractured and in tears,
whereas to relinquish this unwanted anguish,
and melt the many pains, would require the touch
of your puckered flesh on mine. Do not let this reference
startle you into submission, and let us not insult
this moment with a tender helping of great passion.
Let us not allow our bodies to speak volumes,
where words of romance everlasting
burn brighter, but hold each other so dearly,
while we whisper lines of love eternal.

Oxygen

Your lips kiss mine with
an unrelenting strength
of heart, breathing new
life into this cadaver.
The soul of a heartbroken
interloper is replaced
again by the romantic
within me, who I believed
had been permanently
lost. Your affection caresses
every muscle of my
interior form, and removes
the bruised appendages,
safeguarding my adoring
heart with the spirit of
passionate intensity. As
long as your romance
propels me forward
across the rainbow of
sumptuous delights, I
will happily live through
the days which spawn
before me, if only to die
at night when our flesh,
covered in the sweat of
pleasurable contact, does
touch within the apex of
a luscious dream sequence.

With Crimson Passion

Have I flirted with you too much
my lady, or have I flirted too little?
Has my liking you being revealed,
or has it remained unseen by all?
Have my advances been too
ambitious –  is there in fact no
mutuality tying us together?
Are my feelings written across
my face, like words upon a page,
or are they still in darkness,
untouched by the dawn? Have
you considered me a lover,
and if the answer is indeed a ‘yes’,
I would very much apprecaite
the opportunity to submit
my application for quite possibly
the greatest job around. Will
this story end on a note of
happiness, or is this another
tale of agony verbatim? I only ask,
for you are a light bulb shining
brightly in a lighthouse on the
seaside, and I am but a moth,
traveling upon the night wind.
Hands have tried to swat me
right out from the air, for it is
believed by some that only
butterflies ought to take flight
upon the Earth. If this is to be
a tale of woe, when the hands
of you and I do touch, my body
shall be eviscerated the moment
my physicality connects with yours,
for in a tale yet to be touched by
humble love, a globe of light and
a sweet moth are not destined
to be friends. But if you share my
feelings, and believe the opportunity
for romance is one that ought
not to be forgotten, I will happily
fly to you, and kiss your crimson
passion with all my lusting heart.

Upon the Moment of Love’s Tender Touch

‘I’ll go out with you for dinner’
said the woman who had attracted
my attention span, but never
would she really like me; want me;
love me, so it be pointless to accept
her invitation, unless she is capable
of proving her affections to me.
I never asked her to go to bed
with me; just to prove her love
was true, and since such a concept
is obviously far too difficult
for her to comprehend, it is obvious
that I am not to be blessed paramour
of a future yet to see the sun
of a new day; I am simply a stand-in,
until the moment she meets
the man she can truly love,
and once again I will find myself
essentially alone upon this tragedy
coming to fruition, and my shadow
is all I shall have for company;
and that is the worst fate any romantic
could possibly ever endure.

The Penitent Practitioner

A heads up; this poem contains a number of sexual references. Hope you enjoy the read ladies and gentleman!  😀

My heart beats and I follow
its rhythm right towards your door.
My chest heaves and I pursue
the almost orgasmic sensation
directly to your thighs. My pupils
wander towards your bosom and I undress
the many layers of your attire
until all that I can see is flesh.
My soul flutters and flies in the direction
of your body, where it becomes captured
by your ensnaring gorgeousness.
My genitals jiggle with an erotic
quiver whenever I view the movement
of your legs, and where such appendages
meet your back, swaying like leaves
on the wind. Oh, how I crave
the sexual tragedy of forgetting
all of my past lovers in exchange
for entering your sweet mouth
with my moist tongue, and burrowing
into the depths of your centre
with the sword in my pants each moment
your eyes dance across my features.
The intensity of these feelings
are doubtful in their romance, but rich
with sumptuous appeal, and even if love
is not on the menu tonight, my dear,
to be blunt, your succulent clitoris is,
and from the moment I take your flesh
into my mouth, you shall know pleasure
like never before, because my love
may not be what you crave this night,
but all that I give will have you
ravishingly begging for so much more.
This here is my gift to you,
for within these arms, and in the confines
of my bed come nightfall, you will never find
truer love than all that I penitently offer.

Perilous Waters of Pain

It is pointless for I to love thee,
for you could never have feelings
for the person that I am. Never
could you look to me and think
how you wished to experience
a dinner, with I sitting across
the table for two from where
you are seated.

Never do I enter your dreams
as you lie comfortably
in bed, beside a man who,
in comparison to me, has none
of my many features, because
inside and out, we are not
the same, and never will I hold
anything of interest to your
heart and happiness.

Because of this, I will cry myself
to sleep this night I am without you,
and every night that is to come,
until time itself no longer ticks,
for although the realist in me
knows how pointless my pain
surely is, and how it shall go
unnoticed forevermore,
the romantic in me still holds
onto the belief that a destiny
together awaits us on the
other side of tomorrow.

So let it be writ that I can wait no
longer for my wanted paramour
to fall into these arms of mine,
and although the dark clouds
of a mighty depression are
brewing beyond my window,
with the torrential rain of
painted death preparing
to serenade my soul, I will
not allow the plan I had once
considered to become the
fate that shall greet me next
morning.

Once there was an unhappy
time when I would have
contemplated shoving a blade
through my jugular and
expelling the water from within;
such would have been excruciating,
but afterwards, all I would have felt
is shock before falling into a deep,
dark coma, from which I would
never awake nor see daylight
again.

I live by myself, and I realise,
that no one would have
found my body, until I was
nothing more than a fleshy
heap of compost gathering
flies upon the surface of what
was once clean carpet.

But I know that this fate would
never lead to the woman that I
love the most, and although you
may not love me tomorrow,
nor any day that comes
thereafter, I will love thee until
I find another amazing woman
who steals my heart away, who
I hope will not already have
her love belonging to another.
Until that day does arrive, I will
love you, and that for me is
good enough at this very moment.

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.

A Murderer Known as Love

If love is a battlefield,
then I have been caught
in a war torn country,
with regret as my companion.
I had a chance to find
happiness, and I had another
not too long ago,
and yet I still have hopes
that the one I truly love
will see for who I am
and say ‘I want you,
I love you, I have been
waiting tirelessly for you
my whole life; marry me,
would you, you are all
I have been searching for,
and together we shall
never be apart no more.
Let loneliness be abandoned
in these arms of mine
as you hold me to your heart
so I may hear the beat
that I inspired,
for without me you are flotsam,
and without you I am
not myself, but combined
we are everything we need
to see this journey through,
and never shall we be without
the other.’ But this is but
a dream, and dreams, they
do not come true except
in fairy tales, which this
is not, because the gloom
of this here world
lingers upon my shoulders.
Many live for love, so
I doubt it could be
surprising if one were to die
for such an emotion too.
When an unknown man
walks in with a shotgun,
I gladly throw my arms out,
outstretched at my side
as though I am to be crucified,
and I cry for him to slay me,
but no, he shoots himself
instead. It seems that love
has claimed yet another victim,
and it be ironic that an emotion
of such happiness is responsible
for so much death.
There is barely enough left
to describe the stranger
that lies upon the ground;
one second he was alive,
the next he was no longer,
and has become yet
another faceless man in a crowd
of aching hearts, and no matter
how hard I screamed, never
would he have pulled
the trigger with the barrells
aimed down at me.
I want death so badly,
but I do not want to commit
the act myself no more,
for I am terrified my heart
will cramp up and my body
will stutter, and that will
be the start of yet another
colossal failure. The only
way to guarantee success
is at the hand of another;
but what hand would happily
do what I feel must be done?
But maybe I am scared
of death, and have mistaken
cowardice for absolution,
and if this be the case
I needn’t live with such ignorance,
so please, someone smarter
than I notify me,
so I may die with my intellect
intact before I reach my end.

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.

Unflinching Admiration

Love is never nearly enough,
is it ma’am? Is this unfortunate
truth the reality of romance,
or the failed logic of an infatuated lover
who’s passionately connected
to an unknowing victim
of his hearts’ endless affections.

We move in separate circles,
neither of which are fated to meet.
We are destined to always be apart,
and I am not content with that conclusion.

But without the exchange of dialogue,
how are you supposed to know my feelings?
You cannot read my mind,
but, would you ever really want to?

My mind is like a maze and can cause
even the greatest adventurer to become lost.
I would not venture inside if I were you,
unless you wish to be exposed to my feelings.

These feelings I long to express verbally,
but would you honestly give your time
to a man like me?
Ma’am, would you care to listen
to my heart if it spoke to you?

You are never alone.
Friends surround you around every turn.
I cannot approach you,
for my words would cause
great embarrassment, and your reputation
I would hate to hurt.

If only I could shoot you a message,
from my lips to yours;
a gentle kiss, purer than true love,
blown soundlessly across the room
to where you sit.

Maybe then you would know I am real,
for although we’ve never shared a conversation,
(barely a word has passed between us),
I wish to share with you a kiss
so passionate, that you remember me forever.

In reality however,
you will never know my name,
my identity, my number,
and although I’ve watched you so lovingly
since July and the wind of a warm Spring
is fast approaching,
you have never noticed
how much I truly love you.

You don’t know of my existence.
This here will be the fifth week
I have seen you,
and yet you have never seen me.
I have looked right into your eyes
and when you looked in my direction,
all you bore witness to was an everlasting emptiness,
and to you, that is all I shall ever be.

I barely know you ma’am,
and for reasons I am yet to uncover,
my heart has become hopelessly devoted
to you, and you alone.

Please, if you could,
relieve me of my torment
and say how you could never love me;
how I am beneath you;
a wretched worm undeserving of your affection,
who you would sooner squash
between your thumb and forefinger
rather than ever look upon.

Please, ma’am, I beg of you; do not love me.
I fell for you so easily
and I could not survive a fall again.
Ever since I looked into your eyes;
your sad yet beautifully
dazzling eyes, I have become
singularly devoted to you.

But if you were to feel as I do,
if your love was to become
as uncontrollable as my own,
the repercussions would be extraordinary,
for I would never let you go;
even if the world was ending,
I would hold onto you forever.

In this verse you are mine,
and I am always times infinity yours,
and yet, in reality,
such could never come to fruition
for we are not destined to meet.

And even though there was
never a greater love poem
than the one about this particular young lady
and her love struck poet,
in reality, never was there a sadder story
than the truth of this famed fiction.

So, although you can never love me,
please, at least remember me
as the man who loved you;
as the man who always will.
I am yours entirely ma’am,
in this world and the next.
Sincerely, your unflinching admirer.