Release

I only want to let myself release
Against your loving skin, within your heart
Where I will feel the beauty of our peace
I never want to be too far apart
Ironically, release will need Control
Control will be my guide, will take my hand
In comfort she will lead my longing soul
To life within release’s promised land
Relaxed, I rest within your tenderness
At last, I’ve found the place where I belong
The place where to your will, I acquiesce
The place where I can sing my lover’s song
Released from all constraints, at last I’m free
Released into the realms of you and me.

Muse as Lover

I think of her while music’s in the air
And wine is fresh upon my tempted tongue
I need to hold my muse, to touch her hair
Erotically, her song will still be sung
By me, her lover, by the words I feel
I take her to the edge of beauty’s pain
The words she gives me there are more than real
The strength I show her there is not in vain
She knows my love for her is not just verse
She knows my strength is hers and holds her fast
Like better love remains through life that’s worse!
Or lovers find the present through the past
The love that ties and binds us as a pair
Will go beyond the words I want to share.

When My Muse Reads to Me

I love to hear my words, within her voice
They sound like something more than what I write
The way she reads is more than just her choice
I love it, that it’s different, but it’s right
I’m still my song, my pulse, my turn, my scheme
And yet, she’s not constricted as she reads
It’s more than just a vision, or a dream
There’s things within my dreams my muse exceeds
She brings perspective that I’d never see
She makes me see my sonnets through her eyes
It may not be the way I want to be
But she can see right through my words’ disguise
My Muse can say my words and make them more
Than just the words of some sonnettic whore!

Original:

I love to hear my words, within her voice
They sound like something more than what I write
The way she reads is more than just her choice
I love it, that it’s different, but it’s right
I’m still my song, my pulse, my turn, my scheme
And yet, she’s not constricted as she reads
It’s more than just a vision, or a dream
There’s things I never knew my muse exceeds
She brings perspective that I’d never see
She makes me see my sonnets through her eyes
It may not be the way I want to be
But she can see right through my words’ disguise
My Muse can say my words and make them more
Than just the words of some sonnettic whore!

I’ll Catch Her Fall

I’ll catch her if she falls in love with me
Like gardens catch the rain they need to grow
But when she falls, it’s more than gravity
She chooses what she wants with what she knows
Like water, she is flexible and pure
Like water, she surrounds my thirsty roots
Absorbing her, my needs are not obscure
I need her, with my other absolutes
And so I catch her gently in my arms
And know that my protection wakes her trust
Like rescue is proceeded by alarms
Or heat proceeds when flamables combust!
I hope she falls in love, but isn’t scared
I’ve waited long to catch her; I’m prepared!

Beauty

The greatest things I strive for must be real
Superlatives are only what I seek
All things I touch, or see, or hear, or feel
Must go beyond the simple words I speak
Let’s call the sum of heart and mind, my soul
It helps to set a universal stage
It doesn’t mean we have complete control
But lets us start upon a common page
I want the best, the greatest life to live
And thus, I think I know the path to choose
I need to find the gift that I would give
The gift that I would never want to lose
The gift called Beauty is the greatest great
It’s only Beauty that the gods create.

Abandonment

Abandonment is beautiful, serene
It must be; I’m abandoned all the time
[Insert iambic words that sound obscene]
Abandonment is kind of like slant rhyme
I hope she finds a guy who brings her joy
I hope she wins the race she values most
I hope she’s happy with our little boy
I hope she won’t succumb to my old ghost
And when her heart is ripped, right from her chest
By beautiful, serene abandonment
Obscenity will serve the purpose best
She’ll feel it in the poetry I sent
The beautiful serenity is mine
It’s perfect, like a couplet’s perfect rhyme.

Room 25

This one is in honor of all my friends at the most fabulous lounge in Enumclaw, Washington, Room 25 (and Frankie’s Pizza)!

The noise proclaims the presence of pure mirth
Of people who believe it comes and goes
But when it stays, they know just what it’s worth
They raise their glasses, drinking mirth which flows!
If mirth could live, without their flowing drinks
They wouldn’t come and sit within this Room
My waitress smiles; I like to think she thinks
That she provides the mirth that I consume!
It’s like a glass of wine that tastes like joy
If joy could be a wine, it would be red
They serve it here that patrons might enjoy
The noise with all their senses, duly fed
The noise subsides, and yet, the mirth remains
Within this Room that knows what mirth contains!

Her Touch

She touches me like no one has before
Her hands are tied directly to her heart
Without her touch, my life is fairly poor
But with her touch, I have the better part
She touches me with more than just her hands
And yet, I feel her still: her heart, her kiss
I feel her as one summoned feels demands
Or one, extremely happy, feels pure bliss
I never knew my senses fell in line
With how I feel when touched by hands that care
Regardless, what’s perceived as “Grand Design”
It’s nothing like the touch, already there
She touches me, and I perceive her grace
Within her hand’s, her heart; it knows its place.

The Excitement of Bed

I hold her like a blanket, warm and tight
She’s softer than my quilt of fluffy down
On top of me, she’s nearly feather-light
She’s comfortable around me, like a gown
Extend this metaphor and fall asleep
It’s true, I like to hold her in my bed
But dreams are not the only place I keep
My woman.  I’m not stupid, lame, or dead!
Presumptively, I keep myself prepared
For her arrival; any place or time
I’m glad I have the balls and that I dared
To go beyond mere metaphors and rhyme
She’s more than just sonnettic words; I know!
She trusts me far beyond some status quo.

Silence

I wish my muse would let me kiss her cheek
She had to let me go; I don’t know why
She’s still the one who listens to me speak
She’s still the one I turn to when I cry
She gives me words like oxygen I need
I know she knows I need her, so she stays
She’ll be my muse forever, guaranteed
I want her words in many different ways
Erotic words still haunt my poetry
I know the words are hers; she knows it too
Her words transcend forever’s guarantee
There’s things I know; I wish I never knew
They touch my lips, although they’re not her face
They’ll follow me, and hold me in my place.