saying something foolish

I wanted to kiss her
that first time.
Offer up feelings
that in some way
I could not verbalize.
But I hesitated,
as some dissonant reflection
left her gagged by light.
Nature saying not today,
not this way,
not this girl.
I shuddered, sighed,
closed my eyes.
Kissed her anyway.

I would too. :)
 
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So she may castigate me
but I adore her smile.
Even in boots
she dances to the beat.
The beat of the song,
maybe on the radio
or maybe in her head.
Breasts that sway
one way,
and hips that slide
to the right.
Offers sirensong in a smile.
An aperitif to desire
washed down with Guinness beer
and a strong need to center
the universe.
 
Dear The_Fool,

What type of Fool are you? A Neil Sedaka--A Fool In Love? A King Lear kind of Fool: “When we are born, we cry that we are come to this great stage of fools.”? An Aaron Neville~~Sometimes You Play the Fool? A wise fool? A witty fool?
 
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Dear The_Fool,

What type of Fool are you? A Neil Sedaka--A Fool In Love? A King Lear kind of Fool: “When we are born, we cry that we are come to this great stage of fools.”? An Aaron Neville~~Sometimes You Play the Fool? A wise fool? A witty fool?

All of them or none of them. Depends on the day. Usually it falls somewhere in the middle.

I have used a tarot card image as an AV if that tells you anything.
 
All of them or none of them. Depends on the day. Usually it falls somewhere in the middle.

I have used a tarot card image as an AV if that tells you anything.

Yes, it does. So you are the original "wild card". I like it.

We need more Fools in this weary world. :rose:
 
Housecleaning post...

Exchanging a virtual smile
with “Someone New.”
Amazing.
Click the button and now
we share a bond,
weak or strong,
time will tell.
What can be said in a virtual world
where eye contact does not happen?
As if I knew someone.
Trust someone.
Met someone new.
Still,
I smile,
for real.

**********************************


sirensong blonde
wrapped in black
soft to the touch
yields to a sigh
smiling eyes
that may
or may not
touch the lips
let me touch your lips

**********************************


stray thoughts,
stray minutes,
disconnected moments in time.
and I desire her:
primal, primitive, plunder
her lips with kisses.
is it taking
if she is giving?
not thoughtless,
but without thought,
reacting to need
and want,
they are the same.
I love the sounds she makes,
her body makes,
as we propagate,
cohabitate,
fuck.
Break times
with happy endings.

**********************************



Startled me.
That reflection in the mirror.
Not me,
I am now a vampire
with no reflection,
at least not one
that I can see.
Perhaps it was a bird
in flight
reflected through the window.
Or a tree bracing
against a sudden gust
from a chilling winter wind.
Maybe even a lover
from a former life.
Doesn't matter.
I didn't pay close enough attention;
the reflection is gone.

**********************************


So she asked,
asked me if I only desired her,
desired her for one thing.
I told her I did.
I desired her for one thing
but I would not tell her
what that was.
She asked me of this
and that
and yet something else.
To each I answered yes.
"So if each were things I desired,
then I desired her
for more than one thing."
"Think about it,"
I said.
"I desire."
Kissed her,
smiled,
would say no more.


**********************************


Snow upon the ground
and I am remembering
the scent of lilac,
blue in bloom.
Hopes in spring eternal
of an endless summer romance.

Water trails upon her body
draining downward
as she rests
with eyes closed behind shades.
Smiling because she knows
I am looking.

Always.

**********************************


Electric koi
playing coy with the children,
kissing fingers
and toes
dabbling in the water.

I wish I didn't hear her sighs
over the burbling
of the fountain.
Wish I could see her eyes,
but she has turned her head away.

Dry kisses,
arid lips tasting of anise.
Almost bitter,
where once they were sweet
red berries liquid to the taste.

We are two, leaning against
the north side of the tree
crushing moss
instead of seeking sunlight
tangled together as one.

She must of just put on lotion.
Skin slippery to the touch,
where once it was smooth,
warm on a summer day
and she was not sliding away.
 
Housekeeping post #2 for today. This is for a single muse.


I wonder,
I wonder how
I can get more of my skin
touching your skin
as I slide in and out.

Wait,
while I shudder once more
as you drive me, driving you,
to the brink of insanity
with desire for you.

Back to skin,
skin slick with sweat
as we dance our intimacy.
Letting you feel the weight
of me lusting for you.

Having you and still wanting more
Grinding hips against hips
trying to go a little deeper.
Then pulling back,
and slamming home.

Your nipples move in counterpoint
to our passions
except when captured between my lips.
Released, they are beautiful hard extrusions
wet with my saliva.

I wonder if they harden more
when released.
Cool air brushing against
wet nipples
exposed to only my view.

But I was talking about skin.
Skin on skin
and finding ways to make it more.
Not sure I can find my desire,
me wrapped around you; you wrapped around me.



*******************************************************


You can kiss your sister's lips,
your best friend's cheek,
but only a lover
can kiss a neck
and mean it.
Tasting the rapid pulse
of desire
as it traces through her body.
And not just Vampires
like to bite.


***********************************************************

In the space of time
it takes to exhale,
eyes to dilate in dim light,
I've fallen into your desire.
Fast shutter pictureframe
of desire
toned flesh
and blood.
Fondled in sequence
as a breast comes bare
just in time for lips
to capture the moment.
Sigh for me baby.
Sigh.
 
"but only a lover
can kiss a neck
and mean it."

Love it. Wonderful poem. Reminds me of Keats-- full of negative capability.
 
Housekeeping post:


No reason for sorrow
between us.
So take back that
"I'm sorry"
and offer to pay with
"I love you"
"I want you."
Tears are only
a reason for me
to kiss your cheek.
Don't shed them for me
as I need no other reason
than desire.
The desire to kiss
desire to love
desire to touch velvet skin
on winter nights
or summer.
So smile for me.
Wipe away the sorrow
with a warm washcloth
and hugs.
I need smiles and laughter
to season our love,
rather than some salt rain
and sorrow.

**********************************************


Scarlet is not
the color of desire.
Desire is the color
of her eyes
when she gets that look.



**********************************************






There is a time and a place
to say the right thing.
There is the right thing to say,
no matter what time or place.
I choose to say nothing
in this time and place,
let my mouth do other things.
Let our eyes tell the story.
An epic novel,
erotic of course,
where the guy gets the girl.
Or is it one where the girl
get the guy?





**********************************************







Do you feel jaded
when you foreshadow
how the story ends?
I don't,
if the story is told in words
synonymous with elegance
and grace.
Elegant as silk sliding
across her leg.
Graceful as her walk,
from room to room,
clothed or not.
Even if I've read the story
many times,
many places,
I still find mystery.
Desire.
Words rapped around my passion.
Passion wrapped around each phrase.





**********************************************




So we travel in words,
written with fingers
on bare skin.
Bare skin irridesces
in candlelight.
Red
candles offer a warm hue
as if need more heat
than that radiating
from our bodies.
Dancing in our skin
as partners
in a more romantic venue
than a waltz,
more passionate vogue
than a tango,
that leaves us breathless.
Entranced I watch your breast
sway
until I touch them,
cup them,
pull them to my lips,
taste them.
Travel with me tonight
as our journey takes us
everywhere
and nowhere,
fast and slow,
rhythmic and dissonant,
in measured time
and timeless.


**********************************************



Dancing in shadows.
Desire.
Desire, asynchronous flows
from her to him.
Him to her.
One holds out their heart,
but the other is not there
to take it.
Then.
When will times coincide
with laughter.
Instead silent sad smiles
punctuate each soliloquy
offered to empty pews
in a church dedicated to passion.
Or is it lust?
Passionate lust
or desire
frequent dreams best left alone.


**********************************************



Something decadent
about the way
a woman's hips shimmy
out of clothing.
Can't help but notice,
can't help my desire.


**********************************************



so what if the siren song
is keyboards tapping
tapping away into the night
as giggles I can't hear
permeate the air.
slide, slide, slide
down the couch closer
to me
virtual kiss
I remember fondly as one
from my youth,
or when not so young.
kiss that rocks my very soul
and makes me wonder
if I will ever breath again.
warmth of a breast form fitted
to my hand's squeeze
in the night
drawing sighs against
my lips pressed tight to hers.
memory.
a shallow retainer of desire.
desire.
a momentary glimpse
of past, present, future.

**********************************************



So we shared a dialog,
her and I.
Words that were much less
meaningful
than the looks we shared.
Words that bordered
on the inane
and looks that bordered
on a lover's caress.
Have you felt the caress
of a look?
of a smile?
Catch your breath
and sigh
while talking of the weather
or someone's foibles,
offering fifteen minutes of infamy.
To commit or not?
The brush of a hand on hand.
That gentle almost caress
offers movement to the next level.
Commitment can wait for another night.


**********************************************


Bemuse me.
What does that mean?
How should I know?
Sometimes I short circuit
when we kiss,
when I think of us kissing.
Been too long,
not often enough.
Drag nails down my arms.
Count the freckles
on her shoulders.
Red hair sprawled on a pillow.
And I want another taste
of her lips.

**********************************************



Warmth.
Woman in my lap
offering my senses
some form of overload.
It’s not as if I were thinking,
beyond what is.
Still, a departure from the mundane,
cerebral.

Desire.

Tangible touch and taste
When lips collide and audible moan
to tell me she enjoys.
Her breast yielding and flowing
to fingertips.
My moan offers reply.

SkinScents that match my smile
with floral whimsy.
A lick upon her neck,
seems to open the cologne,
heady and intoxicating.
Especially when her hips squirm
and thighs part to the touch.
An earthy note to plant the flower.
A different delicate orchid opens.

And passive yields to passion.
No heavier burden to bear,
but she is light in my arms
as I carry her away
into the night.
 
Just another day or two.
Flowers just starting
to make their presence known.
But there is no scent.
Scent of spring, floral,
is yet to come.
There is the smell of earth,
beginning to warm,
announcing its readiness
to nurture growth.
Maybe that is what I am waiting for.
Her scent.
Signal of her presence.
Then I can wait for her kiss,
announcing her desire.
Mine is.
 
Do you feel jaded
when you foreshadow
how the story ends?
I don't,
if the story is told in words
synonymous with elegance
and grace.
Elegant as silk sliding
across her leg.
Graceful as her walk,
from room to room,
clothed or not.
Even if I've read the story
many times,
many places,
I still find mystery.
Desire.
Words rapped around my passion.
Passion wrapped around each phrase.


Once again, another gorgeous ruminating poem, Fool. My poet's heart thanks you for this treat.:)
 
So is romance,
is romance the sign
of one that is hopeful?
or hopeless?
I read her words,
her smile,
And know that love
flows through her soul.
I read her eyes
and know
there is a darker core
she hides,
maybe even from herself.
Perhaps, sometimes,
hugs and kisses are her penance.
Yet still they come from her joy.
If it weren’t her joy,
there would be no romance.
 
So is romance,
is romance the sign
of one that is hopeful?
or hopeless?
I read her words,
her smile,
And know that love
flows through her soul.
I read her eyes
and know
there is a darker core
she hides,
maybe even from herself.
Perhaps, sometimes,
hugs and kisses are her penance.
Yet still they come from her joy.
If it weren’t her joy,
there would be no romance.

:rose::heart:
 
So,
Sometimes I talk shit
off the top of my head
with conviction.
Other times I speak
of my convictions
with sacrilege
or laughter.
Don’t doubt my simplicity.
Nor scorn my desire.
Know the look,
ignore the shrug,
keep the smiles and tears
for later,
just you and I.
 
So is it words
that whisper softly from lips
to ear
that you wish to hear?
Words of love,
desire,
next steps taken to find your pleasure?
Or is it warmth
and weight of a body
pressing you down,
plundering your senses,
timeless in the night?
Perhaps you seek
the lips of a lover
caressing slowly across
lips, cheek,
neck and breast.
Let me crush you to me, darling.
 
Not Medusa.
Not Rapunzel.
She offers her look
through beautiful hair
cascading around her face.
Darkness and light
as the sun catches hold
and tosses it around,
making it seem alive.
Serious look for a serious girl
until you see the humor glint
in dark eyes
that hides until you almost look away.
Even though
there is no entertainment
in her mumbled responses
to my flirting, teasing words,
the allusive smile
gives her away.
Kiss the fingers
that touch her lips.
 
Housekeeping Post


I wonder how your pussy would taste,
if I were to sing for my supper.
Add a little vibrato
to enhance your pleasure.
Surely you would not think
badly of me
if my song were restrained.
Wait,
perhaps better for you
to be restrained
with eyes covered
to fully envelope the sound
pressed tightly between your legs.
Wait for it.
Wait for that crescendo of sound
while I hunt for harmonies
with fingertips playing along your skin.
Hope that the taste
of another lover
on my tongue
dancing over your lips
adds pleasure to our meal.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I want to chastise her
when she takes up pensive
as a hobby.
But what can I say,
when smiles
are less than frequent
on my face.
Not offering much of an example.
Pondering half-full,
half-empty,
and soon the day
just slips away.
All I can say
is be happy
when there is something to cheer
about.
And keep the tears
to a minimum.
And not be Lot's wife.
Just remember,
kisses still taste sweet,
salty or not.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

wicked dreams
and wicked schemes
tantamount to teasing.
teasing with taste
a smile
a tasty smile
as ice cream drips
down her chest,
destined for taste
of nirvana.
Tasting her nirvana,
melted vanilla'
chocolate
with a swirl
of my finger inside her.
taste the finger,
taste the smile,
something else
is now inside her.
beside her
till the crack
of dawn.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Fuck tomorrow,
with a fisting hand
drawn through grease.
Shatter the quiet solace
of daybreak
by shredding the bedclothes
of dawn
and biting nipples red
as daybreak
on scattered clouds
of well loved dreams.
Scream out
at the loveless act
of being ripped from bed.
Ponder the loss
of intimacy
and decency
to rasping cough
of another day.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Sensible words,
like sensible shoes
are rarely erotic.
Comfortable words,
comfortable clothes
do not evoke desire.
So what words are required
to talk about passion plays
and memorable kisses?
Leave me wordless,
all I can do is reach out to you.
Letting my moans be my message.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Decisions.
Random thoughts and a Molotov cocktail.
I could tell some cock tales;
tell tales of tails,
or twats.
Digress me,
for I forgive.

Eyes drawn away
from a conversation I never heard;
taste of pussy, a memory
on my lips.

Smile for me baby,
make it hurt.
Moan a memory
Of some dark corridor.
Of her panties pressed aside;
my pants around my ankles.
Public transgression
where that wino
tried to steal her shoes.
Fuckme pumps in royal blue.
She almost forgave me
for what that concrete wall
did to her dress,
but she never did forgive
me not pulling out.
Not pulling out all stops
And translating her needs
to my desires.

Beautiful tits and hurtful looks.
Makes my dick get hard
thinking about it.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Lighten me
with your smile.
Or words of dreams
in summers past
where tears were smiles
as we laid around
and let the breeze dry
the water from our skin.
For a woman of modesty,
and restraint,
you were always welcoming kisses.
At least the kiss of the sun,
sprawled upon a blanket,
arms thrown back,
legs open,
welcoming the summer heat
like a constant lover,
blue sky leering
at smooth skin of youth.
Similar to innocence,
before it ages and weathers
with trials and tribulations.
But we were talking of smiles
and how yours delights me.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

What was once
an innocent giggle,
becomes a sultry smile.
Wondering eyes,
show their wisdom,
over time.
Allure.
It was always there,
but it was like she had found
a remote control.
Able to turn it off and on,
dial in the intensity
of her desire.
Which gets back to eyes
and smiles.
She may not project
her feelings through expressions,
she may not wear her heart
as a brooch.
But after a certain amount of time,
even an expressionless face
offers a story of laughter,
of sorrow.
One must just know where to look,
how to see.
But maybe that is a gift
that comes with time as well.
What am I saying?
She still turns me on.
 
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