is taking place in the solitude of nature
bringing with it the enchantment and music
of the motion itself.
~ Love's Passion by Christopher Provost Scott
Did I lose myself
Was I never there in the first place?
Story of my life
To behave like I'm so far away
Seemed to be phased
Intentionally dazed
Seemed to be phased
Intentionally dazed.
~ Phased by Santessa
 |
| Léon Cogniet self-portrait 1818 |
The Breath Of Love
He takes me gently by the hand and leads me on.
I will follow him where ever he goes.
We walk through a shrouded wood.
The sun streams through tall trees and we can hear the clarion call of birds as they encircle us.
We do not speak.
Love has it's own tongue.
Now we stand before a glittering lake and he looks into my eyes.
And I soften in his hand.
My heart is beating so fast I fear it will burst out of my chest.
He holds me with his gaze.
Time evaporates.
He is an artist and a gentleman in a red cravat.
And he has the most beautiful face I have ever seen.
Dark and brooding, yet gentle and sensitive.
Like the face of St Sebastian.
He has black hair and melting brown eyes.
His skin is like ivory and his features are finely chiselled.
He smiles at me and I know that I would do anything for him.
Every time he looks into my eyes I die a little.
A boat is moored close by and he helps me to enter it with him.
And as he gently rows and I look into his deep eyes, I ponder the angelic beauty of his countenance and of the wonders of his smile.
We glide through the glittering water as upon a sigh.
We are like two birds of paradise.
Flying through the realm of love.
I caress the water with my hand.
And suddenly I yearn for him to caress my secret.
He has uncovered me with his eyes.
Suddenly I burn for him to unbutton his shirt so I can kiss his muscled chest.
I desire that we should do the things that lovers do.
He lowers the oars and slowly leans in close.
My heart is racing and I can smell his sweet scent.
Amber and spice.
Then he kisses me with his warm mouth.
And I give him my joy.
Now we are carried upon a wave of love.
As we traverse the Elysian Fields.
And he puts his hand on my breast.
And I put my hand on his thigh ...
I open up to him like a flower.
And then I open my eyes and I am sitting in the Musée des Beaux-Arts d'Orléans once again.
And I am looking at the artist Léon Cogniet.
The man who fills my dreams
A man in a painting.
And I am still yearning for his love.
And imagining his tender touch.
 |
| yearning (by Pearlofeast deviantart.com) |
No comments:
Post a Comment