Come in to live and die in my temple – April 3

 

Come in to live and die in my temple it is sacred, yet access has been granted to you

Come in to live and die in my temple it is not to be shared, but it is to be cherished by you

Come in to live and die in my temple it is made to be adored by you

Come in to live and die in my temple it is allowed for you to savor the welcoming warmth through it’s loving embrace of you

Come in to live and die in my temple it is made to accommodate your every slow careful and treasured entrance or fast hard and feral entrance

Come in to live and die in my temple it is to be worshipped at your leisure, but be thorough

Come in to live and die in my temple it is never to be left without making it shudder and sigh and taking all you have to give

Come in to live and die in my temple

 

Just a poem with a double meaning

Always Wanting One More – April 2

One is never satisfied; always wanting one more glance into your loving eyes.

One is never satisfied; always wanting one more glimpse of your radiating love.

One is never satisfied; always wanting one more kiss on the lips or forehead.

One is never satisfied; always wanting one more nibble on my lobes or globes.

One is never satisfied; always wanting one more caress with your soft sturdy hands on my cheek, my nape or hair

One is never satisfied; always wanting one more embrace with your powerful uplifting arms.

One is never satisfied; always wanting one more kind encouraging word from your elegant mouth.

One is never satisfied; always wanting one more gesture that your love is real.

One is never satisfied; always wanting one more, one more and always one more.

 

The prompt was to use the word ONE in poem.

Heartache Blues – April 1

“Maybe, we can find a way to be together” reaches my ears, but my soul cries out. 

It can’t be forced; we either love each other enough to drop everything

Or we don’t and we each walk our own path without the other by their side.

“Maybe, we can find a way to be together” reaches my ears, but my soul cries out.

On my mind these words keep circulating and reliving heartache.

Why must there be a struggle to be in each other’s presence.

“Maybe, we can find a way to be together” reaches my ears, but my soul cries out.

Golden days of remembrance resurface on the darkest of days making us blue.

Leaving us wishing we had seized more sweet moments to survive these blues.

“Maybe, we can find a way to be together” reaches my ears, but my soul cries out.

My soul bemoans this heartache blues.

Knowing that the last time we loved each other was the last time.

The poetry prompt asked that a music genre be written in the title and then a poem written to follow suit. This time I chose the Blues.