The Art of Love, and the Delight of Her

Posted: November 16, 2014 in Poetry
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Sun swept skies in newly glazed roads,

crisp air that stung our cheeks

while searching ahead, each curious step

our hearts would silent, alone,

wonder what the other mind


strolling together,

would wish for her, him, your, our

interlaced passion.

He would imagine warming his fingertips

as she might know desire

each touch sending shivers that

far exceeded the fresh snow’s arctic blast

creating icicles that danced her naked skin;

ice soon melts with each brushed fabric

falling gently to the floor,

and once inside,

that heat, newly drawn fires

would reckon the confusion

that only led to greater love drawn caress.

This was that unbridled,


promised return of love for one another.

Deep inside the shelter of her,

he would once inside,

the cold air only a memory,

give soft kisses that wet the nape of her neck,

while gasps and binding fingertips

pull one another

towards each thrust,

each fire a searing taste

that bound their hot reach,

a shared sojourn,

searching, seeking, soft …

her climax might offer his dreams,

certain confidence,



In love,

We haven’t a need to prove ourselves to each other

knowing together our love is real without a flair.

We haven’t a fear of losing each other to suggestion

when real, in love we simply give freedom.

Artists breathless, painting, sculpting, a blossom, elegant.


  1. This poem is a wonderful experience, showing the heat of each other being stronger than the wintry cold — and mostly of love being so strong that they don’t have to prove themselves. Beautiful.


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