“The Dismay of thy Gleaming Back” – Poem

Upon a night, where the moon rose to stay
And look upon us with fervent fervor,
I saw behind that dress that covered thou,
A white back that gleamed beneath the silver.

A tempting look in your eye,
You had a back that gleamed beneath the silver,
With a coat of sheen that grew to bloom
In the radiance of an early afternoon.

The dress that covered thou,
Is of lace, embroidered in a streaming silk,
Each strand is weaved to perfection,
To shield a body for God.

Would you open your mouth,
To receive a tongue?
A tongue to lash your swollen cheeks?
You are marvelous when you would grieve.

You are as mighty as all beauty
When thwarted by sensuality.
It is because I am
The blessing of a simple fruit,
And the admirer of resplendence.

A beauty, that you are,
With a sheen to a back,
All white against the dress that is black,
And a face that shows rosy cheeks alack,
For thou has turned from me!

A back, a back, and a back,
Your face not ever known.

“A Wild, Wanting One” – Erotic Poem/Long Poem

How many marks were branded,
As oaths to a singular curse?
I was the livid, the toiling, and the strained.
Worked by day, and puled by night.
Diseased, shameful, and miserable.

You, as the woman, to my heart,
A heart shattered by time,
Stilled in time,
And motioned only by a heavy bosom,
One that is yours, made for sinking.

How lovely are thy breasts!
White as sourdough, and gleam in the sun!
Your feet are for caressing, and thy lips
Are there for the sweetest kiss.
A mockery of my mind, for my heart has leaped.

How marvelous are thy cheeks!
Swollen with the redness of tomatoes,
And also made for kisses,
To be placed on such soft flesh.
You ready yourself to speak to me of heaven.

As I dine on your body,
Twisted in limbs of ivory,
You say to me, “Why has thou forgotten
Of the wishes made before an altar,
For divinity?”

I looked up to see the rays of gold,
And bowed with neck entranced,
To see the Almighty, in how He flew so radiant,
From my side,
To where my fears crossed.

They crossed in the shallow earth,
Where I fell to savor a drop,
One solid and tapered finger, pointed by Christ,
To where I’d forgotten to bask,
Due to that my love was merely limbs to my appetite.

I say with heavy mind and distorted heart,
That, “I knew not what Christ envisioned,
When he sought solitude upon the cross.
Was is because of my loss?
Was it due to my own cross?”

She fell with a reddened neck,
To the soil of a country-land,
So much I took in a fragrance,
A breed of death,
That of her womanhood.

A failure to upkeep duty,
A misery when singing psalms and hymns,
A funeral for a departure,
That of a woman and her tide,
A wild, wanting one.

A beauty, and a savior,
I laid a corpse to be drawn
Over with sheets inlaid with embroidered stone,
Stone, rock, and debris.
A wild, wanting one.

“Upon thy Curling Hip” – Poem

I grew upon, thy curling hip,
With a lash, to a petulant visage,
And thou, drew me near,
To hear the sighs, and the fears,
And the never ending, quake,
Of thy, roaring heart.

A vein, and a dynasty,
A cruel blight, and a fantasy,
A death, and an illusion,
Was all it took, to flee,
For thou to flee, from my side,
So that thou, would find safety.

I found among, your puling face,
Two cheeks of butter, and lips of wine,
Two ears of honey, and eyes of lime.
I found also among, your gracious form,
Two hips that curled, like teakettle handles,
And two legs, like steeples of white.

I found to your face, of beauty,
The newest form, of tragedy,
When you fled, to see the world’s end,
And saw, my creation imagined.
You saw, with open eyes,
The deaths, that were many.

I made the world as grand, as thy temples, and hips,
And thy hips, had curved, just as broad, as that world.

“A Lover’s Wine and Nectar” – Poem – Romantic

Death divides, my purpose,
Love had made, it wine,
Your lilies, when worn, on crown, so high,
Drew to knew, the nectar, from, the sigh.
As when God, bent his knee,
Your loving God, had bent, his knee.
And I gave a ring, to thy finger,
So that thou, would accompany me.

You are not devilish, on my barren lands,
You, with your ivory face, and porcelain cheeks,
A heart of ruby, though wrapped, in thorns.

A quake hurls, my empathy across,
A child pules, to the breast, and its emptiness.
I gave my platter, for the servant, to witness,
A mighty feast, on thy lips, of cherry.

Your beauty, and your fossilized form,
Were many, in the hues and shades,
I still allowed, a treat to be consumed,
Of perked lips, and even raven tress.

Lovely, when thou, would accompany me,
On the serpentine roadway, to my dwelling,
For thy frailty, is next to loathing,
At the pity, and scorn, of my promise.

“Veiled by Sorrow, beneath Murk and Wave” – Poem

Beauty was left unseen, for her, to satiate,
To satiate, all that left her, in sorrow,
Beneath the might, of my murk, and wave,
A growing fire, that made, me slave.

A glow for a heart, that was slender, and raw,
I fled to the other end, of an island,
And saw with eyes, her dusty shadow,
The pain that draws, close in shallows.

I made my way, to the earth’s end,
And found a place, for her hiding,
I grew fruit, in ample condition, new and true,
Afore the mast, peeled over dark soil, to undo.

To undo her heart! She was birthed, in nothingness,
A true misery, unfolded the clasp,

For my melted mark, to sate the yearning,
For my anguished heart, to bury mourning.

My child, as you feel the agonies, leaving you,
Know the grief, that were the truest feelings, plaguing you.

“The Opened Scar” – Poem

Since I knew, to trim thy locks, from a silver head,
I grew to look, to the moon,
Oh, beauty. With thy ivory smile,
And your nestled, face in my heart,
Come to my weary mind, and lay me down.

Lay me to see, the opened sky,
Opening as the scar, on my heart,
For thou would not, ever bleed when dining,
When dining, on my open wounds,
Oh, beauty. My heart is flavorful.

My heart is, as coldness’s touch,
My mind is heated, and will not rest,
Not in the twining limbs, that which are empty,
Empty, not of cane with sugar, and not full of flesh.
Deadened by sorrow, you have become.

I am leaden, and you are poison.
Yet, a poison, that is a cure,
For I’ll drink it deep, and keep each drop close.
Death and emptiness, are alike,
Where above is a sky, and below is a scar.

Dialogue – “The Empirical Assumption over a Man’s Awareness to Romance”

Q: As for your belief in a woman’s way to make herself attractive, are you able to explain why you believe it is always necessary?

A: Attraction is like butter, when melted, not frozen, and the connection of love and devotion will make a man melt into a woman’s attractive appearance. Should a woman be hideous, objectively so, then a woman will have made herself a stone, for the man to chip away. She will have turned him into a slave, working with pickax at grueling work. Love will not be smooth in this, and a man will see his romance as he sees his own life.

Q: What does a man want from love?

A: Rest.

Q: Rest should coincide together between a man and a woman. Is this not correct?

A: It is not correct, because it is not competition that drives a man to want a woman. At least, it is not competition against her. He will not want to challenge her mind, challenge her knowledge; he will want to challenge her heart. Her heart will be more attractive than her face or form. To think of her attractive appearances as melted butter, will be a correct assumption, because an appearance should be made easy. The heart of a woman challenges a man, and he will face external challenges to win it.

Q: And why should a man not challenge her mind?

A: It is because to challenge a woman’s mind will more likely cause him to befriend her, over romancing her. Love always begins at a glance. As for friendship, between a man and a woman, will be the same as a man befriending another man. He will feel like a homosexual, should he not be a homosexual, when he chooses to challenge her mind.

Poem – “One Grisly Pale Hand” – Poetry of Loss

Death, had wept, before me,
In, the feeble form, of lust.
She, who never prospered,
Until Sorrow, showed her up.
God, kept his words, alone,
For tears to sweep, below.

She asked for sweetness, of death,
Though gave me no love, of flesh.

Holiness, that I worshipped,
I am stricken, before death.
Torn, from my severed soul,
Oh, Lea! The sin you kept.
One Grisly, Pale Hand,
Falls over, the edge.

White tides, of Lea’s light,
Were opened, at the slight.

Smooth the letters, on parchment,
Drink the fragrant, bouquet.
Pass the soliloquy, to stone,
God’s serenity, in strife.
Here, I’ll hold, Lea’s hand,
Shrouded, by loneliness.

Oh, terrible shame, release me,
God, I beg of you, hear my plea.

When priests, reveal His truth,
I’ll cry for God, once more.
Never to forget, Lea’s stroke,
Lea’s hand, pained my soul.
Above the pages, of hymns,
A cloud hovers, in song.

I tremble, by the weathered nights,
Torn at last, by Lea’s cruel blights.

Poem – “Longing, Sent over Hills” – Poetry of Loss

The light, you let loose,
Is a tired, tempest,
Yet, the shame, keeps us near,
Below God’s lit, brazier.

The mornings, of our love,
Sing the songs, of daffodils,
As in spring’s, loving tune,
Of piercing, delight.

Oh, grief’s, holy hour,
The books, of gospels,
Those wondrous, stories,
Kept secret, by our heart.

One lit, candle,
Upon, a mahogany desk,
Is enough, for a poet,
As I, to pour out.

One light, in my want,
Is the draught, of wishes,
My light, my pierced void,
The snow, of tall mountains.

Those pained, by our love,
Will yet, bow low,
In the moment, acquired,
By the words, we share.

The Most Bled Wound

Yearnful heart, with sickness amassed,
I am the beggar, of all desires,
So that I may lift, the veil,
That shrouds, your shoulders.

I see Heaven, placed upon, your mantle,
I see Hell, swirling, in your bosom,
I see breasts, that swell, like beaten limbs,
I see, that compassion, has died.

A tear falls, from my eye, and to my foot,
Where lays, a stem, from some forsaken bough.
A sigh, is released, from my heavy chest,
To meet, with the coldest winter air.
And here is my demise, in seeing your shame,
Raving in the darkness, under your blame.

I know my heart, is cold,
It is ivory, and holds, no red,
The most bled wound, is yours,
That is a heart, squeezed of life.

I was cruel, and you remain, to see,
To see, the guilt, I harbor,
To see, the flame, of sickness,
A fever, I aim to end.

It is a fever, I aim, to make cold,
Cold in the tide, of my own blood,
When my hands, come, to know mercy.

Romantic Poem – “To Govern and Claim” – Poem #1

Oh, beauty! Taken beneath, bed sheets,
Disrobed of tattered veil, and dewy flesh.

You were made holy, upon death’s ground,
Made for, the chambers of kings.

Softness is, concurrent, to your realm,
That which I pull myself, down to enter.

Disease made ready, on my pillow,
Kisses made plenty, among all sorrow.

Of futile gestures, and strangeness, in sighs,
I sweep you now, aboard a vessel, of a face,
A face of marble, with gems gilded, like rose!
Ivory, is your flesh, and sapphire, are those eyes.

There were terrible lies, made for the stone road.
And I stuck love, in its place, solid, and formed.

The Scent of Grief

Don’t die, for the lingering sigh,
In harmony, of shadows old.

As I saw your face, of white,
With folds, of skin, among iron,
Death had painted Hell, on a frown,
For my nose, to cling, to its scent.

What would Heaven offer, if Death denied her form?
God, who stalks the bramble, of empty skies.

I am loth, in beginning to toil,
In merciless, unfurling of grief.

You had hair, which tossed beneath, your eyes,
A frail face, of listless beauty, drowned by sorrow.

Where spiders crawl, on a grave,
And snakes, devour a carcass,
In your arms, I knew of Love.
In my soul, I knew of Hatred.

I gave God, his desired Beauty.
Where salvation, would bring, an eternity.
Though the rivers, were formless,
My tears streamed, in endless currents.

Next to my beloved, who lays mangled,
I notice an arm, which clings to your heart,
That heart, which lays bare,
A heart of love, not shared.