A Masculine Perspection

Your feminine enthralls me,

Draws me;

My masculine sees you as beauty pure,

Incapable of seeing anything else,

And why would it try?

What does it want, you ask?

And quite right,

For trouble often follows it closely,

I will tell you what this accursed says to me:

Liberate your eyes,

Let them caress her every dimension,

Envelope her in your arms,

Warmth, worldly and deep;

Ignite a fire so powerful,

She will want to fight for her world,

With a fierceness that slows time,

A light that can and will shine,

Brighter, hotter, and longer than yours.

Let her be the architect and you the builder,

And so the designs would be so grand.

It says to me:

With every glance,

You will understand better why it is,

You’re drawn and fixated,

Incapable of seeing anything less than a goddess,

Cursed nonetheless,

A curse that the masculine seeks,

To unravel,

To turn from chains and thorns,

Into sustenance and warmth,

Continuity and life,

Tenderness and sensuality.

 

 

 

 

Working Peace

Breathe,
slow and deep,
It is this that soothes.
Compose,
your self,
It is this that readies.
Endure and accommodate,
You must,
It is this that allows its existence.
Focus,
a warning if you don’t;
if you dare an act of self-relevance
it may disturb your focus,
Focus
Indeed and well,
but you will be weary
if not wary,
It is this that takes away what can’t be returned.