April 23, 2006
One of my faithful readers asked if I would share some of my poetry. Wow. That's like asking me to stand naked and bare my soul. But what the hell.
My life has been an open book lately.
Here you go, Jeff, if you like it I have more, all depressing love poems.
This is dedicated to my muse....the man who melted my heart and got me to write again.
I wish I were an artist, I'd draw his haunting face.
Those dark violet eyes that melt my heart and touch my soul.
The lips, full of sensuality, yet asking for an innocent kiss.
His soft gentle hands that I long to caress my face.
I’d capture his uniqueness, his handsomeness, his intelligence…
His personlity would be hard to sketch, so extraorinaire and complex.
Why does he have this affect on me?
So unlike my sensibility.
Against my discernment…yet willingly...I fell in love with him.
I read his words and am transported to another time and place.
I am captivated by his stories and touched by his memories.
If I could put his face, his hands, his essence, on paper,
Perhaps he would not haunt me day and night.
His stare could no longer affect me in my dreams.
He would have no longer have a hold on my heart and my desires.
My longings for him would cease to create passion and sadness.
But also the joy, the erotic desire and love he provokes in me would die.
He invited the little girl in me out to play.
The woman in me to unleash her lust.
Would he be smiling in my drawing?
Would there be a tear in his eye?
How can I draw the devotion I feel toward him?
How do I describe something I have never felt before?
I would rather die than live without knowing him this way.
I wasn't even alive before he found me.
I want to create a lasting peice of art, a portrait fit for a King.
That forever will adorn the canvas in my heart and never fade.
I can't end this poem...I can't because I don't want it to ever end