my hands are wet with your memory
the scent of your love
the dream of it
“what would you feel like?”
eyes close and mind goes
to those places of hide and seek
we used to play with our words
cut to the chase
do you want me
my body speaks in tongues
languages only you can understand
but in order to translate
you must touch
and you are too far away
I can’t feel, and I need to,
and I feel
my hands are sticky with the answer
~ Em C.
my ivied gates are open
wet with dripping morning dew
verdant and virgin new
see what’s my inside
my garden path awaits
your distinguished tastes
with your eyes closed
explore depths unknown
feel what lies exclusively before
wide I offer my expanse
grow flowers from my lips
shine sun from my womb
long until songbirds call
we will tumble hard
we will free fall
our flesh on passion’s blanket
forgetting all but us, now
cushioned on a field of moans
as the new seed shoots in spring
I am your fertile ground in need
~ Emily C.
Beads of sweat
in the night
the dark again
comes as I
come in waves
all my moans
biting lips in
vain to keep
they still escape
to heights that
sets me high
upon a view
of mountains tall
the rolling hills
of breasts and bones
the sweat still
like tears crying
~ by Emily C.
spied you staged behind forest bark
watching as in flowing cloak, I dart,
light fading, you give heated chase,
let me lead you from here to away
lay me down under spring willow tree
our sun is setting, skin chill settling
moss soft ‘neath these bared breasts
offering you my secret watershed
scratches from bramble and briar thorn
crown of holly and oak leaf
musky scent of earth and skin
dusk light filtered through branch and limb
breath comes in rolling waves
a nocturnal awakening of the wood
cooling and receding from the hours of the day
flesh warm and welcome joined with sounds of the night
growing deep inside my lush fertile glen
heart patters like ritual drumming pagans
raptured voice escapes moaning throat
fists grip grass as crescent moon rose
overhead, the glow of a pale moonbow
time herself pausing in reverence now
hands tell stories in trace of shadows
along rolling terrain of beating chest
open to the heavens
upon this hallowed ground
this ritual reaches its fevered pitch
like thunderclap on the edge of a storm
desire explodes into a moonlight chorus
the essence of life runs down beneath
to soak into the green earth and become dreams
~ Emily C. & Eric from My Sword and Shield
Thank you to Eric for joining me in this collaboration. A true gentleman and an excellent poet. If you haven’t found his page yet, please pay him a visit and see for yourself, he weaves beautiful stories that tug at the heart. Be prepared to swoon. 🙂
I want to be the woman who wakes up in your bed…
somewhere in Italia, on an autumn day.
The rain will have fallen; just enough to bring the petrichor out after a long dry summer, the microscopic atoms of ancient clay carried in the drops that burst fragrance through a cracked villa window. It overlooks the vineyard we would tend to, the soil we would nurture.
There, the grapes ripen like our love; hung out to dry and tangled together on the vine, sweetened by time in the unforgiving sun – our rebellion.
It would be linens and warm skin, together. It would be creaking wood in the wind, and uncomplicated life. Rolling hills carry my voice, calling your name without hesitating, because you are my native language, the only one I’ve ever spoken fluently. Unlike Italian. You teach me that.
You teach me that with every “Buongiorno, amore mio.” I drink it like caffe’ latte in small sips, swirled. My eagerness would only increase your determination and eventually, it will stick. I would say, “Grazie mille, amore mio.” One day it will be habit.
Conversation is my foreplay. We would talk sometimes passionately, sometimes softly, sometimes only with our eyes. You would speak to me your philosophy, I will challenge you with mine.
Our sex would stop time.
The seasons would turn, the wine would mature as sunsets coursed over our union in time lapsed waves until we paused to see butterflies mating on a grape leaf.
Lips whisper lines of poetry, drawing me deeper until drunk on your soul.
I can see you there now, alone, without me. My journey has already begun, first in thought. Next in reality.
You would wait. You would wait without stopping.
And when you saw me, finally,
you would know.
~ Em C.
In the mood for some creative writing/prose.