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.
The silence spoke volumes
I didn’t know existed
when these undelivered feelings
coursed through me. Though the ending
retained a sense of predictability,
my eyes refused to witness
the brutality of unwavering honesty,
the tender touch of my agenda
restraining the hopelessness
often applied to romance.
Always, I try frenetically
to grasp that which shines the brightest,
only to continuously return
with empty hands and bludgeoned heart,
to an existence
seemingly more meaningless
than before. Though you are a beauty
of utmost arousal, you are a cactus,
whose spines thwart the undeserving masses
with unequivocal poison,
my heart wanting to retain its warmth
than face the solace-less alone.
So, I hide within myself, malcontent
yet absolute, certain this tragedy
will provide a conclusion, better sustained
than what would have been.
With able mind I realize,
I will not risk your face,
so beautiful now,
turn into a scowl
the moment I reveal my feelings.
If this decision renders accusations
and cowardice wrought against me,
then these slanderous remarks
I will regrettably suffer
without dismay, for I acknowledge
my deserving of these titles,
and I own this hesitation.
If only a sign, so subtle,
but immediate and paramount
could be issued, granting me allowance
to whether you were open
to love’s flame,
or wanted it blown out.
Despite the combustion of atoms
retaining less potency
than my love for you,
to some, romance is a horrific poison,
but even so, I would devour every drop
for you alone, if only to spend eternity with.
My ears were once bleached
by the harassing words of heartache,
concerning the abolishment of the romantic
from the society wherein I reside.
Even before this news bruised my cheek,
I had policies agaisnt honesty,
for nobody wants to hear the bluntness of a yearning heart,
craving lustrous affection. But your eyes
deceive the stereotypical remarks made by the mouths
of prior visitors, who complained that truthfulness
was barely bearable. I needlessly halter
my decision to use you as my own confessional,
and leap without second thought
into the midst of feelings I have arranged
so tidily for you, in suppressed linen bags
awaiting the trash receptacle. I have fallen
too many times before because of a pretty face,
but none were ever so inviting as yours,
and due to this, I know you are the cigarettes
I ought to never smoke; you are the hallucinogenic substance
I should not ingest. But my heart betrays
my other senses, readying itself to be executed
by your admittance, that you cannot return
the avalanche of feelings, buried deep within
my unwavering adoration. Your eyes,
like blossoming flowers,
flourish amongst the beauty of your soft complexion,
your lips, with every word
expelled from across your tongue,
urging my own to touch them. Your body, blessed
by a curvature
more sumptuous than any hourglass,
cannot possibly be ignored, my mind having castigated
me, each time I overlooked
the opportunity to admire your artful figure.
Your broken English serenades my heart
like the lyrics of Faye Wong,
your psychedelic voice
I could spend a hundred years or more
discovering you and your culture,
and even then, I would have barely breached the surface.
a mixture of introverted shyness
and spontaneous happiness,
coupled with your family-oriented heritage,
the respectfulness you bestow
upon all others, mirroring a soul of utter kindness,
that may still have thorns should I approach.
Your heart is not transparent enough
for my own to ascertain
whether your love already belongs to another,
and maybe this fear, that keeps me from walking towards you,
will become my eventual downfall.
Had I not been so restrained by abstract hesitation,
there would have been little spared sacrificing,
in order to have you selfishly to myself,
and in this moment of uncontrolled passion,
I would thrust you against the wall,
nibbling my way down your spine,
removing any garment
that dared deter my lips,
from going down on you.
Reluctance would be torn asunder
in the preoccupation of my dream,
and even if I had a thousand life times,
awaiting me like a rallying cry
at the moment of my passing,
one with you would surely be enough,
in which I make love to you every single night,
of that paradise you call a body,
before holding you close,
your bosom pressed against my chest,
your breath upon my ear.
But what luck is there
agaisnt the many barriers, that bludgeon
my conditional hope,
and though the admittance of defeat
is not an endeavor I longed to achieve,
I find any other option, is plagued by crippling doubt,
and as I whisper my goodbyes to you
in an almost inaudible tone, not wanting you
to ever know, from fear of the shame it might bring,
I announce secretly to myself: you, my dear, are perfect.
There is much difficulty to be had
in diagnosing a fractured heart,
no medical professional required
to establish the wrongfully obnoxious agony
that accosts me so. What I would not give
to have a higher power suspend my senses,
and punish me ever so severely
with the removal of all emotion
destined to cause further pain.
Despite the raw potential for unflinching happiness,
dank despair, is as always,
unending in its hostility. I am, as I shall be
for a period of incalculable time, a book,
void of pictures and words, constructed
by emptiness in a broken paradise,
wishing to be inoculated from the love
I once held for you, so I may not grimace,
painstakingly, with tears brimming between my eyes,
after being condemned by truthful knowledge
that your heart beat will never share
its wondrous rhythm with my own.
When you apply my old jacket
to your person, and the fabric
caresses your arms the way my hands
used to, does an image of our time together
flock into your mind,
or is this jacket no longer a conduit
of memory, and just a piece of degrading leather,
fit for the trash receptacle?
That word, love, it has lost
its once proud poignancy,
tortured by over-usage,
until it is abandoned by basic dialect,
and fulfills the last dying oath
of any treasured word,
and becomes an unhealthy cliche.
This is the length and breadth
of the relationship we shared,
the image of your face, I once cherished,
now haunting me, making my every sense
tremble with delirium,
until even the thought of you
is poison in my veins.
I’m always back by breakfast
after I have dreamed the night away,
serenaded with the thoughts
now fossilized in history,
tarnished by regretful inaction
and the hope I may redo the broken promises
to myself, in order to find
a resolution. The darkness
though, offers little delicacy,
only charcoal residue, which paints the world
with decadency. There is no safety
or security to be had, however,
if it were possible, I would wish to become
hollow or stone, but to be camoflagued
with invisibility would be a substitute
my happiness would willingly accept.
I question the application of such stimulating imagery,
like that which falls upon my eyes
this night, the moment a gram of romanticism
flourishes within my unequaled passion.
Why is there never a chance to see
a beautiful woman more than once,
and why is there no opportunity
to relive the prospects of an adoring fantasy
over several evenings, but nightmares
are only ever too happy to return?
Being alive may be a gift
that nothing can be compared to, but it comes equipped
with the pains of treachery and betrayal,
and never can one request a rebirth
with the acquired knowledge from a former life,
in order to do everything right the first time
over. But dreams can offer friendship,
though even this is fleeting, when the regrets
of life push through the barricades of the mind,
and force themselves to be confronted
by the unconscious spirit.
If only the world found within those sleepy pastures
was equaled in the realm I regretfully return to,
I would never worry about the comfort
my heart does not abide. If I could sleep
forever, I may miss opportunities,
but then, the pain of the outside would never traumatize
these irises, nor the feelings which swell
behind them in the confines of my soul,
and perhaps this alone defines what beauty truly is.
Although it is excruciating to know
the honor of seeing your nude form
will not be mine tonight, I give prefererence
to seeing an attire clinging to your flesh,
your body bathed in wool and cotton
fabrics, for I know in these moments,
the mesmerizing longing I try to sweep aside,
comes not from the insatiably gripping
urge to touch you, but because of the beauty
you exude from simply being yourself.
I am immune to much it would surely seem,
but you, are certainly not one of them,
and it should be known by your heart
how I do feel, in case tomorrow never arrives.
You are a flare, struggling against
the competitive light of the sun,
but with me beside you, never will your light
cease to blossom, and its faltering sway
will be abolished, every time my fingers
wrap themselves around yours, in an embrace
unlike any ever recorded before.
There are many lessons to be learned in the lines that I produce,
the most eager, or well respected of all, being the reason
that once motivated my hand to write indecipherable images
upon the page. I write poetry for the woman my heart shall not obtain,
in the hopes these feelings shall melt, for a poem
is a non-essential piece of literature
when you already have the woman of your fantasies.
I dare myself to commit a retaliatory strike against
all that would oppress me so, with frequent wonder
in my veins: how many reincarnations must I sacrifice
to live, at least beside you, for even the most fleeting of moments?
You were never stolen away by the wind,
and due to this, I cannot accept the unacceptable
tragedy that engaged my voice, prohibiting me from wallowing
in the agony that flourishes like a field of daffodils beneath the morn.
Why does fate mock me so with its cruel hand,
leading me astray, for I have longed, so greedily,
to have you to myself, but never is the beauty
of this occurrence unlocked to me,
rather, the gateway is banished beyond my reach,
thus, I am left behind.
I cannot help but internalize every moment beneath the dim twilight
that never ceases in its astounding blight, which ought to be
so legendary by now. Never has a pain existed quite like this,
and awakening from this failed rapture, to drink bliss
instead of agony from the oil well I have inadvertently tapped,
would give me pause to consider astounding happiness.
Divine phosphorescence exudes from the pores of my heart,
struck by the fiery hand of longing and temptation.
You’re a courier, at least I wish you were, transporting these fair feelings of mine
towards your soul, bewildering me always
with your magnificence. Every good memory I own
took place around you, and if you were a flower,
you would be a rose, your thorns cutting into me
with every touch, ensnaring me like barbed wire,
until our connection is complete.
A reading of this poem can be found at the following link: http://youtu.be/bH46vKqZLts Thanks for reading!
Here I stand, in the midst of a maelstrom,
for I’m a poet. I don’t get paid, I get ignored.
The images I produce in exchange for feelings,
have the littlest affect on those I long to care for most.
This fact is one that should have already been absorbed
into my bloodstream, after all, I was not born for happy endings.
I was however born to love. I have been blessed
with several opportunities, but none
have ever eventuated into everlasting circumstances.
There was a time, I opened up my mouth
to speak with a beautiful stranger,
but I did not say a word; not a cry, not a whisper,
not a sound; the silhouette of silent ambiance
deafening my hopeful dreams.
Instead of terraforming my confidence
into a state of leadership, I retreated into myself,
wishing for vain circumstances that would not arrive.
I am many things, and alone is one of them;
the apex of my existence, without chance of ever leaving.
In your eyes however, I witness the potential for a future,
and I cannot help but fight secure
the beauty of this paradise. It is in my mind
that I propose the incidents which lead toward our meeting,
concurring on the day I celebrate my birth.
On days before this one, and all those that come after,
I carry with me the unspoilt desire to obtain a kiss,
my arms however trembling like a tumbleweed in the wind
at the thought of touching you, whilst I writhe
before your eyes like an ant, beneath your magnifying glass,
burning not only from the outside in, but from the inside out.
Beneath your luminous tranquility my heart has prospered,
and though the light of purest nature warms my skin,
you are the embers of the ignition fluid in my soul,
warming my insides. You are the sun in my sky,
serenading me wholeheartedly with your light.
No words would be needed from my lips to convey such feeling,
for the rhythm of my heart when pressed against your ear,
announces all that which words could barely comprehend.
In a hundred years, or more, the warmth of your hands
in mine shall remain like volcanic ash dribbling across my fingers.
There will be no pain, and no conflict the two of us
cannot resolve, for as long as we have each other,
no obstacle, however large, could dare oppose
the heroism of my eternal desire, to live harmoniously at your side.
I would wish for any words exchanged between us
to resonate inside your heart, like the chorus
of an outstanding symphony, the never ending echo
reducing all will power you ever had agaisnt romance,
to enlighten you with the honesty of my emotive announcement:
I cannot image living my life without you. I would wish
to receive a response, both positive and pure,
for every soul deserves to have their heart acknowledged.
When the world has forgotten that I even am alive,
my only wish is for you to kindly remind my life
why I am still breathing, and why, I will breathe again tomorrow.
if my lips find yours,
for this puckered flesh
of mine, searches
for a continuously
Mirror my heart
with your good beauty,
eclipse my soul;
burn my retina
of all foul thoughts
and leave only room
for compassionate intent
towards both you
and your smile.
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
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.