I like to share a beautiful poem a dear friend of mine wrote and sent to me. His name is Tim Mitchell aka tsmog. You can get to know Tim Mitchell some more and take part of his writing by visiting his blog:
Or at Hubpages
A Man, A Glimpse, A Question of Dream or Reality
Her slender figure, shadows of darkness hold close and near,
Presence emanates by soft, sensuous breaths, like the mist of dawn,
Restless of sleep, questioning reality, wondering a vision or a dream,
Like a torrid, raging river, my blood pulses heavily in my veins.
Falling but a second, a moment, the hovering moon casts a glimpse in darkness,
Her curvaceous, serene, goddess aura, sears my visceral mind, branded for eternity,
Her soft, rounded succulent lips rip deeply hidden desires, heart pounds upon chest,
Longing, languishing, deep pools of wanton desire, secretly fall, hard upon my soul.
Within my mind’s inner recess, slipping into the night’s darkness, her essence,
Her tranquil skin couples mine, lying next or upon, her warmth of softness felt,
Roundness, pressed hard, our mouths offer entrance, a duel of lust dances together,
Destiny guides a searching hand, a cloaked door opens after a silent touch knocks.
Time becomes eternal without ending, passion wrestles with fury, fury encompasses,
Winds of change, silken hair paints majestic oceanic waves upon face, it’s a mystery,
Her rhythmic hands force mine into captivity, elation fills the void of emptiness,
Melding aromatic scents, corporal souls consummate fervor, a dance of passion.
Her mounting want falls steadfastly, my poem spills her essence, a path trails slowly,
Like the blinding light of a new born star, she erupts around the catalyst of a dream.
Unrestrained bliss emits, firm gripping pulses energize surrounding darkness,
Upon nearby walls, an enchanted song echoes, a song of delight haunts stillness.
Releasing her captive, her gladiator, her lover, her elixirs mingle upon his lengthy kiss,
A robust potion, a shallow pool of warm spring waters, comfort surrounds creation,
Both fear and joy fell upon us; her skilled hands touch wounds of old, lifting me to her,
Jagged scars dissipate to nothingness, old memories waltz toward heaven, liberty.
Sliding away like a spirit, not of yesterday, with me today, wonderments of perception,
Pondering awake or sleep, candle is lit, hope encompasses doubt, and power is deeper,
Upon nearby table, paper lay, bearing writing, a hand not known, not of my memory,
Simple words are read, laid bare these words, “is this My Dream or is it His?”
© July 29, 2012 (03:00 AM PDT; 12:00 PM CEST)
Thank you for being my friend. . .Sannel