Their foreheads meet as one in gentle touch,
Her hand on his, his fingers holding tight,
Shutting out the world that asks too much
For them to share a minute of their night.
He brings a single finger to her lip,
She tilts her head to look into his eyes
And gives a gentle kiss to fingertip,
Then happily she smiles at him and sighs.
In tender exploration, his lips brush hers,
So hesitant, his fingers find her cheek -
Their hearts begin to beat in nervous tremors,
Their glances meet again as knees grow weak
As tawny eyes and blue gaze lovingly
Curtained there by locks of blonde and ebony.
Showing posts with label romance. Show all posts
Showing posts with label romance. Show all posts
Friday, April 29, 2011
Sunday, April 10, 2011
Persuasion
His eyes glinted in the soft light,
shining and warm,
hinting at some mischief
as he wrapped his arms around her.
“No?” he asked,
leaning close,
letting his warm breath
tease her cheek,
brush across her ear,
touch her neck.
He smiled a little
as he felt her shiver.
She looked down
at her folded hands
leaning against his chest,
not wanting to meet his eyes.
He slipped a hand over them,
then tightened his hold
around her with the other.
“Please?” he asked,
running one large finger
under her chin,
tilting up her head,
but still,
determined not to be persuaded so easily,
she kept her eyes firmly shut.
His lips brushed against hers,
feather light at first,
warm and coaxing,
one hand sliding around her neck.
As he deepened the kiss,
he could feel her resistance waver,
her body relaxing against his,
her mouth responding to his,
one hand shyly leaving its berth against his chest
to slide beneath his hair,
keeping him close.
“For me?” he breathed,
breaking the kiss,
then kissing the tip of her nose.
She glanced up at him,
her blue-grey eyes looking at him sternly,
even as a wry smile touched her lips
and she tried not to giggle.
“Yes, yes, I’ll rub your back,”
she conceded
with mock exasperation.
He kissed her again,
warm, lovingly,
but in large part because
he did not want her to see
the smug victory written in his eyes
and in his smile.
Still, he could not see
her own hidden smile -
she got just what she wanted
out of their negotiations.
shining and warm,
hinting at some mischief
as he wrapped his arms around her.
“No?” he asked,
leaning close,
letting his warm breath
tease her cheek,
brush across her ear,
touch her neck.
He smiled a little
as he felt her shiver.
She looked down
at her folded hands
leaning against his chest,
not wanting to meet his eyes.
He slipped a hand over them,
then tightened his hold
around her with the other.
“Please?” he asked,
running one large finger
under her chin,
tilting up her head,
but still,
determined not to be persuaded so easily,
she kept her eyes firmly shut.
His lips brushed against hers,
feather light at first,
warm and coaxing,
one hand sliding around her neck.
As he deepened the kiss,
he could feel her resistance waver,
her body relaxing against his,
her mouth responding to his,
one hand shyly leaving its berth against his chest
to slide beneath his hair,
keeping him close.
“For me?” he breathed,
breaking the kiss,
then kissing the tip of her nose.
She glanced up at him,
her blue-grey eyes looking at him sternly,
even as a wry smile touched her lips
and she tried not to giggle.
“Yes, yes, I’ll rub your back,”
she conceded
with mock exasperation.
He kissed her again,
warm, lovingly,
but in large part because
he did not want her to see
the smug victory written in his eyes
and in his smile.
Still, he could not see
her own hidden smile -
she got just what she wanted
out of their negotiations.
Sunday, March 20, 2011
A Pause in the Hike
He feels the touch of it,
the magic,
here in the mountains
as they sit on a rock,
resting for a moment
beneath a blue sky.
Magic
pouring over them like a benediction,
caught up in the flow of water,
and the call of birds singing,
and the wind in the pines,
and the gentle smile of the woman in his arms.
Wrapped up in the simple joy of the day,
he silently thanks the spirits of the place,
smiles,
and kisses his wife.
the magic,
here in the mountains
as they sit on a rock,
resting for a moment
beneath a blue sky.
Magic
pouring over them like a benediction,
caught up in the flow of water,
and the call of birds singing,
and the wind in the pines,
and the gentle smile of the woman in his arms.
Wrapped up in the simple joy of the day,
he silently thanks the spirits of the place,
smiles,
and kisses his wife.
Wednesday, March 9, 2011
Moonlit Homecoming
Light from the full moon
poured through their window,
and danced across her skin
as she lay there,
becoming reacquainted
with the texture of her bed.
Not alone, no.
The feel of his breath
warm against her moon-kissed skin
as his cheek caressed
the softness her neck
gave her goose bumps as he moved,
electric shivers.
She had missed it,
the way his arm wrapped around her
pulling her closely
in a safe circle, skin to skin,
his hard chest to her smooth back.
His fingers made lazy patterns
gleaming in the soft light
moving across her white thigh
before disappearing into shadow.
Closing her eyes when
his warm lips tasted her skin
she breathed deep
and knew, as she surrendered,
it was good to be home.
poured through their window,
and danced across her skin
as she lay there,
becoming reacquainted
with the texture of her bed.
Not alone, no.
The feel of his breath
warm against her moon-kissed skin
as his cheek caressed
the softness her neck
gave her goose bumps as he moved,
electric shivers.
She had missed it,
the way his arm wrapped around her
pulling her closely
in a safe circle, skin to skin,
his hard chest to her smooth back.
His fingers made lazy patterns
gleaming in the soft light
moving across her white thigh
before disappearing into shadow.
Closing her eyes when
his warm lips tasted her skin
she breathed deep
and knew, as she surrendered,
it was good to be home.
Wednesday, February 23, 2011
Away, Away
I remember his smile,
but it's fading away,
his eyes were blue
(or were they gray?)
as he kissed me once more,
nothing left to say
as he went on his way in the morning.
Away, away, my love has gone,
away he walked in the morning sun,
away he walked while the wind blew free,
but what will I do if he comes back to me?
I remember his laugh,
or I think I do,
he could make me laugh
with a word or two,
but what those words were,
I wish I knew,
as he went on his way in the morning.
Away, away, my love has gone,
away he walked in the morning sun,
away he walked while the wind blew free,
but what will I do if he comes back to me?
His hair was sandy -
my mother claims brown -
if he said my name wrong,
it would make me frown;
other girls wept
in my little home town
as he went on his way in the morning.
Away, away, my love has gone,
away he walked in the morning sun,
away he walked while the wind blew free,
but what will I do if he comes back to me?
I wept for a week,
then I sighed for another,
then one day at noon
I ran into his mother,
who invited me over
to meet his brother
who would always be home in the morning.
Away, away, my love has gone,
away he walked in the morning sun,
away he walked while the wind blew free,
but what will I do if he comes back to me?
but it's fading away,
his eyes were blue
(or were they gray?)
as he kissed me once more,
nothing left to say
as he went on his way in the morning.
Away, away, my love has gone,
away he walked in the morning sun,
away he walked while the wind blew free,
but what will I do if he comes back to me?
I remember his laugh,
or I think I do,
he could make me laugh
with a word or two,
but what those words were,
I wish I knew,
as he went on his way in the morning.
Away, away, my love has gone,
away he walked in the morning sun,
away he walked while the wind blew free,
but what will I do if he comes back to me?
His hair was sandy -
my mother claims brown -
if he said my name wrong,
it would make me frown;
other girls wept
in my little home town
as he went on his way in the morning.
Away, away, my love has gone,
away he walked in the morning sun,
away he walked while the wind blew free,
but what will I do if he comes back to me?
I wept for a week,
then I sighed for another,
then one day at noon
I ran into his mother,
who invited me over
to meet his brother
who would always be home in the morning.
Away, away, my love has gone,
away he walked in the morning sun,
away he walked while the wind blew free,
but what will I do if he comes back to me?
Saturday, February 19, 2011
Warm Fire
I do not remember everything about that day
the day I tasted you for the first time,
felt the warmth of your tongue
dancing with mine,
the touch of your lips,
the heady sensation of my heart beating hard
as your hands explored
and my hands fumbled,
each kiss tumbling us closer
into that white hot heat
neither one of us wanted to step back from.
I remember your hat
and your vest,
and the shyness in your smile,
and how your hands felt on my breasts,
and the feel of my thighs wrapping around you,
and the bliss in your eyes -
yes, that look I remember best.
It's still there,
warm and friendly after all this time,
even after so many nights together -
I warm myself at its fire
and know that I am loved.
the day I tasted you for the first time,
felt the warmth of your tongue
dancing with mine,
the touch of your lips,
the heady sensation of my heart beating hard
as your hands explored
and my hands fumbled,
each kiss tumbling us closer
into that white hot heat
neither one of us wanted to step back from.
I remember your hat
and your vest,
and the shyness in your smile,
and how your hands felt on my breasts,
and the feel of my thighs wrapping around you,
and the bliss in your eyes -
yes, that look I remember best.
It's still there,
warm and friendly after all this time,
even after so many nights together -
I warm myself at its fire
and know that I am loved.
Monday, February 7, 2011
Sleepy Contentment
How drowsy
this afternoon is,
laying here
as the summer light peeks
through the blind
and across us
as we stretch out in the bed,
your hand tracing
the outline of my thigh
as I listen to your breathing,
and the sound of the clock,
and the ceiling fan.
I would hang onto this moment forever,
sleepy contentment,
afterglow
of a summer's afternoon.
But since I can't,
I'll put it here,
in my memory's treasure box,
take it out sometime
in a cold dark moment
to wrap myself in its warmth.
this afternoon is,
laying here
as the summer light peeks
through the blind
and across us
as we stretch out in the bed,
your hand tracing
the outline of my thigh
as I listen to your breathing,
and the sound of the clock,
and the ceiling fan.
I would hang onto this moment forever,
sleepy contentment,
afterglow
of a summer's afternoon.
But since I can't,
I'll put it here,
in my memory's treasure box,
take it out sometime
in a cold dark moment
to wrap myself in its warmth.
Saturday, February 5, 2011
Foreplay Using 13 Words
Your lips,
sardonically knowing,
smirk
as you brush past my cheek.
I feel your breath
warm
scented with coffee
wrapping around me
as your hand dances across my skin,
your eyes
dominating mine
in that hot soulful gaze
that demands my surrender,
fingertips grazing
the mysteries of my body,
the soft touch
striking just the chord
you want
as you play me like a lute.
You kiss me
hard,
and with the blood pounding in my ears,
I turn off the light
and blanket myself with all of you.
Note: This poem came out of a challenge. A poet I know dared people to avoid a list of 13 words in writing their romantic poems, because they are often overused or used in cliche ways. I, being a horrid contrarian, had to write a poem that satisfied me using all 13 words in some form or another. The 13 words were: lips, breath, warmth, scent, touch, eyes, gaze, body, blood, finger(tip)s, skin, kiss, light.
sardonically knowing,
smirk
as you brush past my cheek.
I feel your breath
warm
scented with coffee
wrapping around me
as your hand dances across my skin,
your eyes
dominating mine
in that hot soulful gaze
that demands my surrender,
fingertips grazing
the mysteries of my body,
the soft touch
striking just the chord
you want
as you play me like a lute.
You kiss me
hard,
and with the blood pounding in my ears,
I turn off the light
and blanket myself with all of you.
Note: This poem came out of a challenge. A poet I know dared people to avoid a list of 13 words in writing their romantic poems, because they are often overused or used in cliche ways. I, being a horrid contrarian, had to write a poem that satisfied me using all 13 words in some form or another. The 13 words were: lips, breath, warmth, scent, touch, eyes, gaze, body, blood, finger(tip)s, skin, kiss, light.
Sunday, January 30, 2011
Birthday Plans
They stood out on the patio, watching the sunset and the garden, and how the light painted the mountains red as the sun went down.
"You were saying?" she said as he stood behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist. She lightly rested her hands on his.
"First, I thought we'd do dinner. I heard about this great Chinese place that opened downtown." He nuzzled the side of her neck, and his breath on her ear made her shiver.
She tilted her head to the side and leaned against him. "Chinese would be nice," she replied, and took a deep breath as his lips took advantage of her position, and planted little kisses from her ear to her shoulder. "And then what?"
He pulled her closer. "There's that movie you were telling me about." His left hand began to drift up from her waist.
She sighed a little as his hand found her breast, kneading gently through the fabric of her tee shirt. "I didn't think you liked chick flicks."
"I do if they make you happy," he replied. "After all, it's your birthday present."
Amused, she turned in his arms and looked up in his violet eyes. Tiptoeing up, she gave him a quick peck on the lips. "Or we could just come home."
He smiled down at her. "And what would we do here?" he asked, kissing her back. His kiss lingered, and led to another.
"Oh, I suspect we could find something to do," she replied. "Hot tub, massage oil, feathers . . . " The fingers of her right hand, resting lightly on his waist, began to drift down his hip.
"Feathers?" he asked, arching an eyebrow.
She smiled up at him a bit wickedly. "Just an idea I --"
"Mama!" Suddenly the storm door from the kitchen to the patio was pushed open and a small girl toddled out. "Brudder took my doll!"
She picked up the little girl, smoothed the girl's hair, and gave her a kiss. "Did he?" she said. "Well, let's go find out what's happening." Moving to the door, she turned back and looked at her husband. "First item isn't dinner," she said.
"No?" he asked as he opened the door for her.
"Nope. First thing is to call your mother and see if she'll keep the kids overnight." She stepped inside.
"You have a point there," he replied, stepping into the kitchen, let the storm door close behind him.
If you like this piece, you can read more about this couple here: http://figment.com/books/15009-He-and-She- This is an ongoing vignette series that I write purely for enjoying their company.
"You were saying?" she said as he stood behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist. She lightly rested her hands on his.
"First, I thought we'd do dinner. I heard about this great Chinese place that opened downtown." He nuzzled the side of her neck, and his breath on her ear made her shiver.
She tilted her head to the side and leaned against him. "Chinese would be nice," she replied, and took a deep breath as his lips took advantage of her position, and planted little kisses from her ear to her shoulder. "And then what?"
He pulled her closer. "There's that movie you were telling me about." His left hand began to drift up from her waist.
She sighed a little as his hand found her breast, kneading gently through the fabric of her tee shirt. "I didn't think you liked chick flicks."
"I do if they make you happy," he replied. "After all, it's your birthday present."
Amused, she turned in his arms and looked up in his violet eyes. Tiptoeing up, she gave him a quick peck on the lips. "Or we could just come home."
He smiled down at her. "And what would we do here?" he asked, kissing her back. His kiss lingered, and led to another.
"Oh, I suspect we could find something to do," she replied. "Hot tub, massage oil, feathers . . . " The fingers of her right hand, resting lightly on his waist, began to drift down his hip.
"Feathers?" he asked, arching an eyebrow.
She smiled up at him a bit wickedly. "Just an idea I --"
"Mama!" Suddenly the storm door from the kitchen to the patio was pushed open and a small girl toddled out. "Brudder took my doll!"
She picked up the little girl, smoothed the girl's hair, and gave her a kiss. "Did he?" she said. "Well, let's go find out what's happening." Moving to the door, she turned back and looked at her husband. "First item isn't dinner," she said.
"No?" he asked as he opened the door for her.
"Nope. First thing is to call your mother and see if she'll keep the kids overnight." She stepped inside.
"You have a point there," he replied, stepping into the kitchen, let the storm door close behind him.
If you like this piece, you can read more about this couple here: http://figment.com/books/15009-He-and-She- This is an ongoing vignette series that I write purely for enjoying their company.
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