Ardent Love
I caressed her gently and so smoothly and so carefully. The influx of desire wrought from her lips, as my fingers slid down her face, bade my mouth open just a little, tiny, little bit. My lips quivered with every touch. And with every sensation, all perceptions of remembrances, all procession of time, all flow of thought and feeling, all but drifted away. And I could see them swirl and spin and move harmoniously, melodically, and paradoxically in the chamber with so many books.
My love, my gentle, sweet love, how many moments you've bequeathed unto me from your scribe, how many thoughts and fancies you've unleashed upon my lonely heart. For my heart is indeed lonely, but only is it because of your love that I am lonely, that I sit in my dusty, little study. Yet, though paradoxically, it is not monotony, but my passion, and drive to see yours and my love fulfilled by each moment passed with each vowel propelled about my inner sanctum.
I have traversed leagues through time, and I have crevassed years through ages, and I have walked with legends, and I have shared emotions with their tidings. Love so affected by ardent and protected fancies only specific to the reader and unique to the individual.
My hand finally slid about her volume, and I awoke her with the turn of a page.
Art
Art: What a man may make
when his thoughts are Complete;
when paint is dry
or inking is finished
Complete: What a man may become
when he strokes an Idea;
when gears slacken
and canvas is purring
Idea: What a man may obtain
when his muse is Lost;
when from the dark
she reaches her doorstep
Lost: What a man may seem
when his pen starts to Dance;
when fields are blank
and roots soon to blacken
Dance: What a man may do
when he falls in Love;
when muscles open
to welcome emotion
Love: What a man may feel
when he observes Art
Log in to comment