But why?

he wants to touch her; her rose-petal skin, gentle curves cased in alabaster (she's not that innocent really) flushed with peached satin. By god, he needs to touch her, feel her--feel her healing caress and the sinful velvet of her lips pressed on his, slightly pouted and parted as though whispering secrets. He wants to take her,  sate his desires; to sink into her and feel her aflame beneath him; flushed skin on ivory skin; oceans, sweat and tears clashing into one delightful, shuddering frenzy. He wants to make her his, forever, as long as he breathes.

he just didn't know that she wants him too,
even more than he wants her.


  1. Wow, your imagery is amazing. You write some of the best prose I've read in a while.

  2. Not my words, but they made me think of you.

    I knew it the first of the summer,
    I knew it the same at the end,
    That you and your love were plighted,
    But couldn’t you be my friend?
    Couldn’t we sit in the twilight,
    Couldn’t we walk on the shore
    With only a pleasant friendship
    To bind us, and nothing more?

    There was not a word of folly
    Spoken between us two,
    Though we lingered oft in the garden
    Till the roses were wet with dew.
    We touched on a thousand subjects—
    The moon and the worlds above,—
    And our talk was tinctured with science,
    And everything else, save love.

    A wholly Platonic friendship
    You said I had proven to you
    Could bind a man and a woman
    The whole long season through,
    With never a thought of flirting,
    Though both were in their youth
    What would you have said, my lady,
    If you had known the truth!

    What would you have done, I wonder,
    Had I gone on my knees to you
    And told you my passionate story,
    There in the dusk and the dew?
    My burning, burdensome story,
    Hidden and hushed so long—
    My story of hopeless loving—
    Say, would you have thought it wrong?

    But I fought with my heart and conquered,
    I hid my wound from sight;
    You were going away in the morning,
    And I said a calm good-night.
    But now when I sit in the twilight,
    Or when I walk by the sea
    That friendship, quite Platonic,
    Comes surging over me.

    And a passionate longing fills me
    For the roses, the dusk, the dew;
    For the beautiful summer vanished,
    For the moonlight walks—and you.

  3. So... the poem is sad right - about those missed moments in life, and yet I am left to wonder, should some moments be deliberately and willfully missed?

    Not because of ambivalence, but because one knows in their heart that it would be the right thing to do? So much confusion, so many conflicting thoughts.

    I don't question my feelings of love. They are beautiful and will be cherished forever, but those old-fashioned notions of honour, dignity and integrity chase me in my dreams and tell me that maybe sometimes, love can be wrong...

  4. seeing your most recent post, mine seems so ill-timed to say the very least. Please ignore. There are much more important things in life. Thanks for reminding us all.

  5. Chloe: Thank you dear. Your words are also amazing.

    Lookingglass: It is a sad poem, about longing and love. It's beautiful though. Some moments don't have to be missed but they can be waited for. Good things come to those who wait. Conflicts occur within our hearts anyway but if your heart feels that is right, I always believe in finishing it. Better than regretting it.

    Please don't think that your post is ill-timed. I needed something to take my mind of the tragedy for a while.


Write your thoughts kindly, ... or at least as thoughtfully as you possibly could.