saying something foolish

Thanks, Always good to find a new reader. Even better one that will listen to me.;)

If you want to read more and can spare some money for a good cause, I have a book/ebook you can purchase here.

I finally bought the book today, kindle version, as an early birthday gift to myself. I'm going to snuggle up with it now.:kiss::rose::heart:
 
~

So I found myself muttering
through life.
It’s not as if anyone was listening.
In fact, if you were to ask
what I was saying,
I would probably offer you a blank
stare.
Perhaps age
or heat
has affected my brain.
I’ve grown careless
about my caring.
Except when I bury my face
within her hair
and offer kisses to face and neck.
Or does she offer her face
and neck to be kissed?
It all seems confusing.
 
This was a FB blurt. Don't think I posted it here yet.


No sonnet…

It all starts with decadence.
My vice of choice is listening
to the music,
the clinking of ice in my glass
wrapping sanity around the rum
I’m soon to imbibe.
Certain I will find a smile
before the night is over,
and I allow my glass to stay empty.
Not so certain is the laughter,
but drink enough
with companionship
and I may find that as well.
I don’t look on it as locking out the insanity
of the world outside.
No, instead, I see
how to free
the sanity
and commonsense I have locked away
to grind away the day.
 
Oh Patience

What’s the fun of sleeping
of dreaming
when the dreams
are a burden upon the soul?
It seems just yesterday
that her smile was my sunrise
at daybreak.
And her sleepy kiss
the curtain pulled up on the night.
But now,
with her gone,
all I have is the very faint
scent of her hair
upon my pillow,
the haunting memory of body
next to mine
and a disconnect to all that was.
 
A saved poem. Forgot all about this one.

Scent of beauty
offers light to one
whose eyes shine
only within her soul.

Sensing her imbalance,
as seen only by the blind,
she whispers a flower
into bloom.

Skirt stained
by the smell of violets,
she wanders fields
of sylvan solitude.

Shoulders caressed
by Sun’s copper rays,
she maps the mood
of her memories.

Fortunate misfortune
color night and day
as one;
brightness measured as warmth.

Timeless tears
fall south
marking blossoms
in her night.
 
Mandy's fault this time...


Surprised,
once again,
by the softness,
floral scent,
of her hair
as she leans back against me.

Feathering in the summer breeze,
like a thousand wisps of silk
caressing my cheek,
as I breath in
that essence
so natural to her

and so enticing to me.
The brush of her hair
cascades movies
of memories,
making love just last night
and the time before that.

And how her hair lingered
behind the kisses
she trailed down my body,
teasing me with her touch
and her smiles
and the iridescent scent of her skin.

Not just memories,
but melodies played in harmony.
And she knows my thoughts
as I think them.
Just as I know she is smiling
even before she turns to me for that kiss.
 
For *S*

So for some reason
I have become more reflective.
It could be age.
It could be my children have children.

Anyway,
I’ve already sidestepped my task.
She asked words of me,
so my thoughts have turned to her.

What do I see when I look at her
with eyes tarnished by years and fate?
At once I see both the girl
and the woman she has become.

I still see the innocent child,
the baby I once held in my arms.
The happiness in her smile,
the trust within her eyes.

But trust must now be earned,
happiness is haunted by burdens
she bears, some she can only bear alone.
But she can still smile with love in her eyes.

Now I have to wonder,
when I kiss her cheek
am I kissing the grown girl-child,
or the youthful woman?

Maybe that is the secret to the Madonna,
vitality and relative innocence of youth
and the wisdom and caring required
of a mother.

But those are just meandering thoughts
of an aging man. In the end
it doesn’t matter, child or woman,
I am kissing one I love.
 
Selena thought

~
We go round and round
in our discussion on beauty
and what is.
So I take a tangent
or a back seat and we agree
to disagree.
If I caress her with my lips,
tell her she is beautiful,
she tells me
That is just my passion
or desire
talking.
Pausing for a moment,
for a glance and a smile,
I reply,
“So What?
Is that all bad?”
 
Housekeeping post.


Is is the feather touch
or the touch of the feather
trailing across your shoulder
in some sense of caress?
Caresses linger
or lingering caresses
foreshadow the touch of
fingers trailing in a line
yielding to curves
and kisses.
Yes caresses
lead to kisses
lead to licks
and more passionate touching.
Foreshadow leads to foreplay
leads to more.

When I talk about fucking,
she gives me
that prude look
and tells me to quit talking
dirty.

I've been dirty before,
covered in mud
and dirt
and filth.
Even shit when spreading manure.

No, fucking has nothing
to do with being dirty.
That irritating feeling
when you feel coated
with disgust.

Instead think of that smooth
slickness with a musky smell.
Sweating just enough
to slick up your body
and give each kiss a little salt.

The sound of two primal beings
moaning and groaning
and seeking dominance
or to be dominated
to the rhythm of two bodies slapping.

Touches are aural
and kisses
have their own ebb and flow.
Fucking has its dissonance too.
And smells and tastes of desire.
 
This was for a ten-year-old girl's memory book.


For K....


Did you find a memory today?
Maybe one that sits on your lap
and purrs out its contentment.
Or one that giggles,
..........tags you *IT*
.................and runs away.
If you were sad today,
.....maybe one that hugs you tight,
...........wipes away that tear.
Although not all memories can be happy,
may most of them be cherished.
 
always a pleasure to read your writes, foolio ... though i keep forgetting they're here and not over in the poetry forum. there's a lot of love oozes between the lines of your words, and some very tender moments. lovely. :rose:
 
always a pleasure to read your writes, foolio ... though i keep forgetting they're here and not over in the poetry forum. there's a lot of love oozes between the lines of your words, and some very tender moments. lovely. :rose:

Thank sweetheart. Maybe the next thread will go there when I take this one down.:kiss:
 
Satire speaks
in words negotiable,
emotions revocable.
Stripped down elegance
isn’t,
as dark humor
clouds the day.
Another broken butt
for the ashtray,
as she silences my cough
with displeasure.
Just another look shared
with disgust.
And we go our separate ways.
 
Can't remember if I posted this one or not.

I’ve known love.
I’ve known sorrow.
I’ve know loss and grief
and cried for days on end.

There is a sequence of life and living.
That finds us wearing our years as wrinkles
and scars upon our skin,
upon our souls.

I’ve looked, learned, lived
enough
to know I have missed
so much of life.

Some may say it comes down to faith
I can’t say I know faith.
I can feel it, but not sure I know it
other than the warm spot where once my heart was.

I said it once already.
I’ve known love.
I know love.
It’s all that keeps me going.
 
Have you ever set at the bar
peeling the label
from another bottle of beer?
Brand doesn’t matter.

Doesn’t matter to my story.
Doesn’t matter the person
peeling the label
at that moment.

As everything tastes of ashes.
Drinking for some reason
other than drinking.
Something to do.

Ponder the past.
Ponder the moment.
Ponder the consequence.
And wince at the regrets.

And when the label
finally comes free,
lays pristine on battered wood,
time for another beer.
 
Housekeeping post



I want to distend her sequence,
measure female distemper,
compare it to the time spent
admiring evocative décolletage.

Interesting how women
Stroke their throat in thought.
And I’m thinking
(to myself)

I’d rather it be me with feather caresses
Touching curves,
so close to her pulse.
Vampire or not,

I’d sink my teeth
(to taste sweetness)
as the first act of a ravishment,
followed closely by tearing

clothes into tatters.
Nipples winking dim-light
after buttons cascade to the floor,
ivory waterfall.

Eyes hiding
behind the curtain of her hair,
or not,
as she presses it back

behind her ear,
impatiently.
Impatiently waiting my next act,
or surrendering to an impulse,

make me move on.
If I will.
But I have no will.
She sundered that from me

long ago.
But no matter the pleasure,
(I’ll take what I can get)
I’ll end up buying another blouse.


Slandering smirk
with a wave of her hand
and I'm shot down in flames
before I even said a word.
Obviously,
She has heard every line,
endured too many fake smiles.
Fuck her.
Someone else
can tell her
of the toilet paper
hanging out
the back of her slacks.


Been a lot inspiration from the group that posts in this forum.


But we were talking of kisses
before digressing into desire.
Although, I think
kisses are one symptom of desire.
Kisses offer us that connection,
then we meandered
into emotion.
But how does one speak
Of love and desire
without emotion?
Or kisses?
Back to kisses,
and not needing any words.
Finding more
than one pair of lips
she wanted me to kiss.


What color is your desire?
Or do you wrap your look
in the washed-out monochrome
of late night moonlight?
I'd just rather close my eyes
and be tactile
baby.
Feeling velvet skin taut
over delusional curves.
Meaning curves that make me
delusional.
And soft satin tones of desire
whispered in my ear
matched by my guttural moans
in hers,
punctuated by licks.


Speak out loud
and yet sometimes
nothing is said.
Offer a smile
touching the eyes
and not just the lips,
contains a soliloquy
that threatens to last all night.
Punctuate it
with a soft caress
and it will.


For the candy lover....



She loves her suckers,
and I do as well,
as her sensuous tongue
licks that candy
smooth.
Slow sucks to taste the sweetness
as she lingers over her treat.
Until she licks it
to the very core.
No biting for this girl,
her tongue and lips do all the work.
And her kisses are the sweeter
for it.


……

Blame HesterPrynne for this one.


Air kisses seasoned with chagrin.
Not as if there were any desire,
only embarrassment.
Okay there is some desire
but I try and hide it,
shifting in my chair
and making subtle movements
to hide protusions.
Thank God you can’t see the steam
coming from the scene
playing out in my daydreams.
Where lips are joined not just to lips
but to all I might require.
With no need or want
to hide my want.
And I lack subtlety.



Tired.
Looking for that quiescent moment
at the end of the day
where I talk to no one

But only for a few moments.
Let me gather my thoughts,
put them away for tomorrow.
Tonight I just want to be.

I want to be with you,
stroking your arm to the rhythm
of some mindless entertainment,
or some scandalous pose.

Your scandalous pose.
With your shirt unbuttoned
down to there
and languid gestures,

fingers trail down your throat.
Perhaps some thought is required.
Contemplating my next move,
our next mood.

Nevermind.
I’ve lost all ability to think
with your first kiss.
First kiss of the night.



Something wonderful about a girl
in a soft teeshirt
scrubbed clean
ready for bed.

Feels soft
to the touch,
smelling floral
in a way no flower could match

for desire.
And all I desire is her soft kiss
from lips tender to the touch
and smiling.

As she stretches
some way that even a cat
cannot match,
before she wanders off to bed.


Say your sunset wishes,
it's autumn.

Chill drab broken
by occasional rays
cascading over bright blue.

Some tints of color,
enough to deflect
from the dismal brown

of decay.
Seems that trees in fall
groan more

as the winds blow.
And I shiver
at the chills down my back.

Not ready for this.
Not ready to face the dead
of winter.

Not ready for the cold.
The cold
that freezes your very soul.


It is hard to articulate
with words,
without allowing some
morose melodrama
into the conversation.
And yet here I am,
trying to do just that.
Not worth the effort
to backspace.
And yes,
I will keep my sullen sighs
to a minimum.



Sort among the detritus.
Careful for discarded words,
sharp as glass
thrown against the wall,
Shattered in anger.

Stung by our embarrassment,
our barbs polished
by years of practice
and knowledge
of each other’s pain points.

Like open wounds,
Over which our hands spill out
jagged salt;
which we then grind in.
Slow sadistic rhythm.


Does that dildo
offer you moans
in vibrato?


So seriously.
Must I really be serious?
Okay wiping off the smile.
No, fuck it.
I am going to smile
and laugh
and joke about it.

God, I find you sexy
when you pout,
stomp your foot.
Throwing the glass
at me
was a little over the top,
but I can live with it.

As long as we end our yelling
with the silence
of a kiss.
As long as the tears
are wiped away
with caresses.

It's just all one grinning hello,
one long kiss goodnight.
Goodnight.
 
He saw her gaze
rest upon him.
Eyes to eyes
then she dropped
her glance.
Minor frown,
almost fear,
played across her face,
diminishing quickly
to studied indifference.
His features had been typical open,
Friendly,
Smiling.
Yet he too frowned,
briefly,
until he recovered.
His smile now slightly wistful,
torn to think that his demeanor
offered something painful
to one so attractive in his eyes.
__________________


There are whispers,
then there are kisses
that have words attached.
Sometimes the words
even make sense.
Not that the words
are necessary.
We can find
other ways
to communicate desire.
Words are just sweet icing,
swirling around two tongues.
__________________


So if I spend a kiss...
Sometimes we barter favors
spending kisses
and caresses.
"You can only kiss me twice
and then you have to go."
And she smiles knowingly
as I sneak in an intimate
touch.
A game we play,
assigning value
to our desire.
But it is all play money
that scatters to floor,
worthless,
less the moments shared,
which are always priceless.
__________________


So easy to fixate on you.
So what if my eyes wander
up and down and around.
{What an ass!}
Dacadent daydreams
where time slows down
lights dim
and your lips taste sweet
as candy's kiss.
And fuck I want you
sprawled beneath me
squirming out your discontent.
My discontent
Prodding us to try
another way.
Even as you ride me
off into the sunset.
Strip.
For me baby
and let me ponder the weight
of each breast.
Nipple sliding between my lips,
just the lightest of scrapes
across my teeth.
There is no tomorrow.
No yesterday.
Only now.
I want you now.
__________________



never having seen her eyes
I wonder at the emotion
they might show
or not
I know it's there
sorrow in the song
laughter in the light
sadness in the dark
love in every moment
never having seen her eyes
I wonder at their color
the emotion does not matter
as I see that in other ways
__________________


so it's not as if
I found her more feminine
in or out of pink
sweater
falling to the floor
and lips that glide
and slide
on bare skin
waiting that next move
with breath a little frantic
staccato sound
that breaks an afternoon's
silence
until the moans come into play
say what you will
only with passion
in your voice
__________________


No sight, no sound,
just sighs.
Just close your eyes
and let our lips
find the way
to each other.
What makes you lips
so soft,
so pleasing to kiss?
Have to reach out
and hold on to you,
you essence
affects my equilibrium.
You always have me off balance.
You always have me.
__________________


So what if she says
"Fuck you."
With that leering smile
and legs spread
beneath a short skirt.
Slapping me hard
after I slam her
into the wall.
Then trying to tear off
my face
when she pulls her lips
tighter into mine.
better finger
fuck her
a little
so she is not dry
to the touch.
Bitch forgot her panties.
Damn
makes me hot.
Hard.
Wonder if the bricks
will leave an abrasion
if I slam her
into the wall
once again
with skirt pulled up
around her waist.
Not that I care.
Much.
__________________
 
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