Ian Anderson 4:01 p.m., Feb. 20
- Community Blog
- Farelee for Love
To light these tea lights, ritualistically, placing each tiny flame, as though their perfect juxtaposition will make your presence stronger here.
Becoming undressed, I long to make love to your memory. Thus truly is a sacredly one sided romance.
But,,, it wasn't meant to be this way.
I watch steam rise off the water, and pretend that the walls of my oasis are the walls of the sure magical beat that you hold inside.
"It's every man's dream to hold the love of his life, right here," you told me, as I just listened... if only I would have heard.
Your presence is so vibrant and real, hardly summoned. Anonymous, you're still so magical to me, I can hardly comprehend what a delight it is, to know I once held you as my own.
I'm going to close my eyes now, and just make Love to you again, replaying every touch,,, I have them locked in my memory.
You're the only and only I ever believed those words from.
My desires, are getting impatient, and I'm restless, waiting for you here.
The warm flickers of tea lights that once set an invitation to the one place my being belongs, now taunt me, asking, "Where is your love? Have you let it slip away?" Like water escapes my grip, you evade me... but regardless of every failed seance, you are... my dream, my nightmare, my light, my elusive romantic, my audacity, to even call you mine at all.
My hands caress over your back like a gentle avalanche, or a plane caught in the rage of a storm. Our strokes are uneasy, our kisses, fragile, like a Stradivarius bow- one that has played a thousand masterpieces.
The crescendo nears, the music rises,,, i mean our heartbreaths... with eyes shut, every touch is guided and rests exactly where intended...
I take a moment from this trance... i must steady the rise and fall of my breasts.
You come back to kiss me once more, this time, steady, and deliberate.
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- Oh my Lord, please bring my heart back close to me before my lungs hit their thresh hold and capacity of no air or oxygen and I sorely do miss him with every fiber cracked of a parched, dry body needing his saliva to moisten the life back again. — Feb. 19, 2012
- River Run — Oct. 26, 1978