The mask slipped

Lady Gaga – Poker Face remix

The simmering soft
Rising simmer
My muse
Pretends
In measured movements
Her struggle to maintain
A silence feigned
Desperate to restrain
For she cannot dare to speak
The words that would cause
The very smoke rising
To reignite
In a fire consuming

Pretends
Not to look
At her desires
Straight on
Yet
She cannot look away
So her eyes
Capture the center
Of desire
In the peripheral

Yet her stolen glances
Are apprehended
By his eyes

Her mask silently slipped
The simmering fire
Rising boil
The churning
Returning
The gentle caress
Soft stroke along her shoulder
As his burning kiss finds home
upon her neck
The fire springs to life
As pretending
Comes to an ending

Come dance

Ciara Feat Justin Timberlake - Love Sex Magic (Djs From Mars Remix)
“Come dance with me”
 A smile
Sultry invites
As
The tension built
Bittersweet
Waiting for the conversation interrupted
To erupt from the frozen land
While his hand
Crossed the
Unbearably short distance
The circle capture around the back
As the heat from her lips
Erupt into flame
Moments before contact
A frozen fraction
Where souls would die
Only to be born again
A frozen faction
Waiting for the conversation
To continue
Til then
Bittersweet
Tension built
Waiting
For the dance to begin
While his smile
Remains

Loving Cup

Rolling Stones: Loving Cup 

It was unexpected.  

 It was the summer.  He went to the mail with no expectations.  At first the cacophony of color flooding out his mailbox proved him right.  An assortment of junk mail telling him of the incredible savings he was missing at a Grocery Store he never went to seemed to prove his case.  Yet amongst the cards and shifting colors one white envelope stood out.  He was shocked.  Now it wasn’t the color of the card that made his eyes grow wide, no, it was the writing upon it.  It was from her. 

As he glanced at the script his excitement grew.  In elegant cursive the cat and mouse game of correspondence was to be continued.  He shouldn’t be surprised; he was the one who had started it.  He had written her.  Using every part of the card, envelope included, he had written.  So desperately had he longed to talk to her, even if was only through scribbles of lead, then that would be the way that he would have to scratch out his message.  Why so desperate?  In his writing he could be with her… even if it was only through his writings.  Of course he would try on the sly to see if she was interested.  This is what he had hoped, but this is what he had feared. 

It was still so unexpected… though it shouldn’t have been. 

This was the way their correspondence worked, he was supposed to write her, and she was supposed to write back.  Through this series of interrupted conversations they could be together; a seeming seamless way for two bound by an earnest desire for connection.  The belief that two hearts could embody the same soul was a zealous hope. 

So there it was.  The letter.  Looking at only the face of the envelope he imagined the earnest grace of her hand as her mind searched and scrambled for the bon mot.  The letter inside carried the tension of saying what you wanted to say, but careful not to say too much.  How could he read this unwritten into her words?  Well his letters to her was a similar walking of a tightrope.  A delicate balance of just the right level of the cavalier philosopher to be able to speak right to the edge… without saying too much.  Sad thing was that it was always the too much that left unsaid that both sides desperately wanted to say.  Ahh but the fun of excruciating joy.  The trick was writing always so that the line closer to the unsaid was approached.  So that its broach could be inferred and desperate in the hope that the other would read the built in inference correctly.

Oh, and by the way… both sides did.

But…

It was still so unexpected.

As almost as unexpected as the whiff of perfume that hit his nostrils as he brought the envelope closer.  What should he do?  Like always, give people what they really want, and it scares the heck out of them.  But the Rubicon had been crossed.  He had opened the envelope.  Included in the envelope was a gift.  She knew how the band had influenced him, and he knew how much U2, who had drawn inspiration from the album had been influenced by the album.  Though he cherished the album, he does all the more as it was a representation of her.

The album was Exile on Main Street.

As soon the album began to play, he saw the confident half smile.  The continual wink of her eyes that hinted at the fierce intelligence that burned within.  The want to see, to feel, to know… to be.  Cascading ringlets brushed from her cheeks, though she had recently cut her hair short in a savage stunning style that reflected so much.  Her beauty, her brains, her essence, her everything that drew him to her.  She continues to burn as fierce.  Though denied by some, her vibrancy remains forever flowing under ready at a moment’s notice, or hidden in a sly smile, to erupt.   As he listened he longed for just one drink...

From her loving cup.

As was to be expected.