Rapture

 

I can feel she has got out of bed.

That means it is seven a.m.

I have been lying with eyes shut,

thinking, or possibly dreaming,

of how she might look if, at breakfast,

I spoke about the hidden place in her

which, to me, is like a soprano’s tremolo,

and right then, over toast and bramble jelly,

if such things are possible, she came.

I imagine she would show it while trying to conceal it.

I imagine her hair would fall about her face

and she would become apparently downcast,

as she does at a concert when she is moved.

The hypnopompic play passes, and I open my eyes

and there she is, next to the bed,

bending to a low drawer, picking over

various small smooth black, white,

and pink items of underwear. She bends

so low her back runs parallel to the earth,

but there is no sway in it, there is little burden, the day has hardly begun.

The two mounds of muscles for walking, leaping, lovemaking,

lift toward the east—what can I say?

Simile is useless; there is nothing like them on earth.

Her breasts fall full; the nipples

are deep pink in the glare shining up through the iron bars

of the gate under the earth where those who could not love

press, wanting to be born again.

I reach out and take her wrist

and she falls back into bed and at once starts unbuttoning my pajamas.

Later, when I open my eyes, there she is again,

rummaging in the same low drawer.

The clock shows eight. Hmmm.

With huge, silent effort of great,

mounded muscles the earth has been turning.

She takes a piece of silken cloth

from the drawer and stands up. Under the falls

of hair her face has become quiet and downcast,

as if she will be, all day among strangers,

looking down inside herself at our rapture.

Galway Kinnell

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State of Love

 

The ultimate state of love

is freedom, absolute freedom, and any relationship that destroys freedom is not worthwhile. Love is a sacred art. To be in love is to be in a holy relationship.

– Osho

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Coco

I don’t know why

women want any of the

things men have

when one

of the

things that

women

have is

men.

― Coco Chanel
Gabrielle "Coco" Chanel
Gabrielle “Coco” Chanel (Photo credit: Wikipedia)
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Lady & Flower Girl

Ziegfeld girl c. 1926

The

difference between a lady and a flower girl is not how she behaves, but how she’s treated.

― George Bernard ShawPygmalion & My Fair Lady

 

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Shake stars from the sky

I have so much love for you, ‘I could fill rooms with it. Buildings. You’re surrounded by it wherever you go, you walk through it, breathe it…it’s in your lungs, and under your tongue, and between your fingers and toes…’

His mouth moved passionately over hers, urging her lips apart. It was a kiss to level mountains and shake stars from the sky. It was a kiss to make angels faint and demons weep…a passionate, demanding, soul-searing kiss that nearly knocked the earth off its axis. Or at least that was how Poppy felt about it.

― Lisa KleypasTempt Me at Twilight

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I Carry You

If

I never see you again

I will always carry you

inside

outside

on my finger tips

and at brains edges

and in centers

centers

of what I am of 

what remains.

~Charles Bukowski

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It has begun

 

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It has begun with a touch,

a smile a moment shared 
Untamed emotions for which we were unprepared 
You lead with your, hand in the small of my back 
Lost looking into eyes of ivory black 
Aesthetically, you command style 
I become the muse of the dance for a while 
Rhythmically we step, movements pulsating 
The warmth of your hand I am embracing 
Fingers entwined, bodies moving in time 
Hearts pounding to their internal rhyme 
In every breath, every step, every beat 
With each twist and turn we feel complete 
We’ve succumb to the hypnotic trance 
Lovers gone astray in life’s eternal dance 

Source: www.LoveLifePoems.net 

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Dark as Night

For

I have sworn thee fair and thought thee bright,
 Who art as black as hell, as dark as night.
Shakespeare, Sonnet 147
Paraphrased: 
For I thought you were moral and bright (shining as a star), But you really are black as hell and dark as night.

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sweetest things

For

sweetest things turn sourest by their deeds;

Lillies that fester smell far worse than weeds.

― William ShakespeareThe Sonnets

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By My Side

I’ve

learned that waiting is the most difficult bit,

and I want to get used to the feeling,

knowing that you’re with me,

even when you’re not by my side.

― Paulo CoelhoEleven Minutes

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Love alters not

Love

is not love which alters it when alteration finds, or bends with the remover to remove: O no! It is an ever fixed mark that looks on tempests and is never shaken; it is the star to every wandering bark whose worth’s unknown, although his height be taken. Love’s not Time’s fool, though rosy lips and cheeks within his bending sickle’s compass come: Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks, but bears it out, even to the edge of doom.

(Sonnet 116)
― William ShakespeareShakespeare’s Sonnets

Solitude, undesired

Abandoned.

The word alone sends shudders down a sensitive spine, troubling the thoughts of pained souls as their hurt swells in ripples. It is a sentence of undesired solitude often pronounced on the innocent, the trusting—administered without warning or satisfactory cause. 

One day the moon is yours, or so you believe. The next, his countenance transforms from Jekyll to Hyde with no intention of ever turning back, and you are left trampled upon in a deserted street, concealed by dirty fog that squelches all illumination or any hope for future rays of light. 

It is the worst of mysteries why a beast considered noble would forsake his duty, exhibiting a heart of stone. And all who once looked on him, now turn down their eyes and suffer, beguiled. 

Some poisons have no antidote, but are slow, silent, torturous ends that curl up the broken body swept into a cold, dark corner. There she is left to drown in her tears—a dying heart.

Abandoned.

― Richelle E. GoodrichSmile Anyway

 

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All that you see

 For

long you live and high you fly
and smiles you’ll give and tears you’ll cry
and all that you touch and all that you see
is all your life will ever be.

Pink Floyd
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A Boat Beneath a Sunny Sky

A boat beneath a sunny sky,

Lingering onward dreamily
In an evening of July —
Children three that nestle near,
Eager eye and willing ear,
Pleased a simple tale to hear —
Long has paled that sunny sky:
Echoes fade and memories die:
Autumn frosts have slain July.
Still she haunts me, phantomwise,
Alice moving under skies
Never seen by waking eyes.
Children yet, the tale to hear,
Eager eye and willing ear,
Lovingly shall nestle near.
In a Wonderland they lie,
Dreaming as the days go by,
Dreaming as the summers die:
Ever drifting down the stream —
Lingering in the golden gleam —
Life, what is it but a dream?

Promise of Love

I turn away

and close my heart–

to the promise of love

that is luring.

For the past has taught

not to be caught,

in what is not

worth pursuing.

To never do

the things I’ve done

that once had led

to my undoing.

~Lang Leav

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What you love

Some say that the most beautiful thing

on this dark earth is a host of horsemen,
others that it is an army of foot-soldiers,
and others that it is a fleet of ships;
But, I say it is what you love.

Sappho/Fragment 16/ 600 b.c….

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Oldest Love Poem Known

The above inscription, dating from the 8th century BC and belonging to the Ancient Babylonian Era, is described as the world’s oldest known love poem. According to the Sumerian belief, it was a sacred duty for the king to marry every year a priestess instead of Inanna, the goddess of fertility and sexual love, in order to make the soil and women fertile. This poem was most probably written by a bride chosen for Shu-Sin in order to be sung at the New Year festival and it was sung at banquets and festivals accompanied by music and dance.    The following is the translation. Read more

Sweet Apple

I

…You’re
Just like the sweet apple reddening at the highest branch
and missed by the apple pickers –
No,
They did not miss you!
They just couldn’t reach so high.

II

And,
You’re just like the mountain Hyacinth,
trodden by the shepherds
next to the purple blossoms

 

Sappho (B93 & B94)

Sappho Fragments 600 b.c.