Velvet night and obsidian bliss
Velvet touch, your biting kiss
Softly feel your breath upon my skin
An urgent begging, a withhold, a deep breath in
I listen as you whisper my name is surging sighs
I listen has you pant back needing cries
I look into the depths of your eyes…
Passion dripping, wrapped in velvet thighs
Feel your body against my fleshen soul
The caress, the touch, the overthrow…
Tongues that trace like silken lace
Fingers that slide with lustful grace
Stubble roughly on delicate homes
Sighs and trembles and lustful moans
Feel the pull of full restraint
Feel the push, the pause, the faint
Feel you hold back from losing all control
As I urge you to motion, smooth and slow
Feel the explosion of soul within soul
A need, a desire, a letting go
With deep paths of unheld lust
Eagerly meeting and matching thrust
Cushioning and grasping within a nestled place
I watch as you let go, your exquisite face
With a collision of stars, planets, a milky way thread of light
As your soul explodes with mine in the night
Feeling you fully undone to the center of your core
I feel the want, the need, all that plus so much more…
I feel myself fall and land into your embrace
A soft smile of love, on each of our love torn face.
…ways quite mysterious. Today’s sonnet, and it’s companion are written in response or reflection to this post. These few offhand words by Lady Day struck me a certain way–sparked, one might say a memory. Regarding the nature of love, and work, and how, so very often, hard work is the very way, particularly among men, in which we most often express our love. Need it be that way? I do not believe myself to be a perfect judge of such things. I will here state that it may depend somewhat on temperament. I have found it in myself at times, to be necessary–or at least to seem so–to make myself harder and more practical–and this can, very naturally, push ones romantic nature to the back, while bringing to the fore ones desire to do such practical things as life may sometimes demand. Continue reading
Today marks a repost of 5 sonnets I wrote for this gifted young lady. Talented. Capricious. Prone to hope and despair.
I also updated my tag links so that the following will point to most every post relevant to her in one way or another:
Screenshot via: “This Was Never Poetry”
So much so that I despaired the first time you vanished taking all your words with you. So very much so, I made myself afraid, after a time, to visit your site fearing it would once again be gone.
So much did you inspire and ignite my imagination.
So many, thy words
That, of me, hast thou written;
Mine, like water flow.
Networking. I have indeed found interesting blogs–those I enjoy visiting again and again following a chain of likes from those I do not like. So often have I clicked along these lines: “Hmm… let us see what other people follow this detestable individual…. Oh goodness me!! Look at this!!!”
I could indeed be more actively involved in this process, but I go through periods wherein I am rather withdrawn and reflective. Still, out of 100 followers one has, a few find that they positively cannot live without ones work, and these would not have found the work had there not been a chain of follows and/or likes (or even dislikes) to lead them to it.
Since I do not have a blog with very wide appeal at all, I am always gratified when someone who likes what I do finds me. And the more clicks and links and likes and follows, &c, (as well as all the other types of things you rightly suggest) that I put out, the more people (among the very few who actually enjoy my work) will find it.
The more widely one spreads out this activity the more likely one is to find such people. Just using wordpress alone is not very reliable in and of itself. The reason for this–I would say the main reason–is that bloggers are writers wanting to be read; and writers are for the most part not normal readers. It therefore is beneficial when someone who only posts pictures of cats on facebook happens to like whatever it is you do. That is a real follower, most often, not just another abnormal reader (aka a writer) and someone who might actually share your work with similar people.
David Emeron says:
Your comment is awaiting moderation.
August 21, 2013 at 4:30 pm
And one more thing to add to your arsenal is to turn off moderation. I found more enthusiastic followers once I did this. I keep meaning to try opening up comments to everyone and anyone. I will no doubt get more spam comments, but more openness seems to help the process along. In fact, now that I think of it again, I am going to do just that. In about five minutes, I will have the comment section completely open.
P.S. And… I have now completed the above as my two test comments below will attest.
Doth, sylphidine, my poet walk the night.
Her nature, sybaritic; every wish
As spritely, and as sensuous a whim,
That, sibilant, depriveth of her sight;
The magic of her grace, her subtle flight.
Of flowery gifts, she writeth, she hath won;
Of sunsets, singeth she, luxuriant, warm;
And downy-cool, her mountaintops of white.
We shall, as loveth she, so never love;
Nor built we paradise, as hath she done.
Doth sleep our kingdom not upon the clouds,
Nor fortress, on such billows, dream above.
So vanquished she, as many, though but one;
She triumphed clear; yet had we only shrouds.