The Man in the Moon

      

“Think only, 

on what you are going to put first”,

said the man in the moon

to the spider

at his side.

She watched him intently, as

she spun her web; a thin

and veiled disguise.

“I put first

whatever feels right,” she whispered

as she tied up

knots in the sky, connecting the

stars’ angel-light with the words

she wished

she could say.

When he turned

his face away,

she knew she could no longer

stand

to be brave

…and she let her costume fall,

on the ground

it revealed

she was not a spider at all, but a

firefly drawn

to his light,

“I glow because of you,” she said,

and together,

they lit up the night.

Playing with this week's theme for Leeds Savage Club Writers' task: 'Tactical Bask'...

     

Hunger

     

Starving hands

trace the parts of me

that ebb and flow,

dip their famished fingers alongside

ravenous toes into honey

that promises sweetness to taste; to run

soft and clear, enough

to sate, and so generously nourish;

…temperate heartbeats and arms,

consider half-wants to cherish, and gently,

they lay them aside;

needing

is the only thing that matters

tonight, and tomorrow

there will be infinite, beautiful time

for talking and words enough…

this tender moment

there is nothing

more important

to discuss

than veiled desires

just barely revealed;

…for nothing was ever

more precious and true

as the way that this hunger feels.

      

Heaven In Strobe Lights

   

Bring me heaven in strobe lights,

come rove and explore;

reckless hands, all inhibition,

cast wanton, to the floor like the skins,

of forbidden fruits,

beckoning

and craving, voyeurs ache

to be you,

or I:

hard-backed against the wall,

in this slow-motion room where dark angels

all call, immoral and teasing,

at the cliff-edge of cruel, until we tremble and ache

with the yearning truth

of every white-hot touch 

and caress… Sullied beautiful throbs and sparks

against tenderness, and I want to be wholly

and eternally

undressed by gentle claws and a

wild 

velvet tongue…

I dare them now...ask us to leave…

…such pleasure cannot be wrong.

        

The Twilight Dream

    
No pretty words
this barely-morning,
will right how wrong it feels,
to wake,
and know myself alone;
delicious flavours of you
still pepper
my tongue,
and your breath lays softly in my bones.
   
Saturated,
in last night's laughter;
in whispers, 
those burning looks and words,
with silent desires,
almost trusted,
almost told,
I turn and seek you
in the twilight peace.
    
Barely kiss me, half-asleep,
a searching hand 
comes tracing
and caressing release;
but blind am I now 
that you might see,
and I sorely feel,
every sacrifice,
I make 
to protect,
tonight.
   
All pleasure in giving feels eternally right,
and I am
exactly, 
where in truth,
I want to be,
...as eyes wide shut,
I taste you again...
and in ghost-arms, give in to my dream. 
   

On The Nature Of Love

    

Love hurts. This is true. This is always true. For love, in it’s truest form, is a selfless thing. 
   
It is not, by far, an effortless thing. It needs your time, reverent respect, and your constant attention. It pains you with its beauty, and it skewers you with its sadness; it demands your laughter…and your tears. But without both of these, it is not love. You hurt only because you feel. And nothing worth having ever comes without a fight. 
   
With the warm sunshine and the generous smiles of love, with its beautiful rainbows and bright butterflies, will come the dark nights, and the confusing fogs, that mean you will lose your way. You will stumble, fall, scrape your palms and your knees…and bleeding, get up, and keep following your star. Because love is a thing you cannot help but give, and it is not given because you expect to receive.  
    
Love is lessons you were put on earth to teach. And each of your lessons are handed to whom they were intended to reach. They’re received at the precise moment that person needed them to be, and you will equally take lessons from them. Little pieces of your selves are wrapped and exchanged; tokens that can never be erased, or cancelled out. Given only as selfless gifts - equal students, equal teachers. 
    
The lessons don’t fill or create gaping voids; they don’t make you complete. You have to be whole, and listening, to understand them. 
    
Sometimes, it is only years later that you realise their messages. But when you do, they enhance the world and your soul; and make it shine like you’ve never known. They make you better at loving.   
     
A lifetime ago, it seems, I knew someone who loved beyond measure. 
   
And another who was loved by them. I knew them both very well.
   
It taught me this: If I smile when you smile, and I hurt because you do…then it is probably because I love you. 
    
Be you friend, family, lover…I will say so, before the day my tongue won’t move. And I will show you so, before my limbs grow too heavy to hold you…or too weak to bring you a rose. 
     
Love is bigger than pride, than honour, than fear… And tomorrow just might be too late.

A musing to get me in the mood for the Leeds Savage Club Writers' Group theme this week - 'Love Hurts'... :)