(Intro) Lovely Tears

She was something wonderful, the only person that could erase all of his pain. Tony wasn't the easiest person to love, but Mary did an impeachable job doing so. She dealt with his frustrations, confusion, and misery; and he rested in her compassion. Gorgeous beyond belief, Mary was all that he could ask for and more. Tony enjoyed every second with her and dreaded the hours she wasn't next to him. They shared a passionate love.

They rested next to each other, as they do night after night, this one being special. It was a full moon and the stars lit their room while passion love was experienced in their bed. There was an incredible adoration that they each shared for one another and it was felt that night, so they slept well. Tony placed his arms around the curves of Mary's body and held her closer than he had ever done before. She felt his heart beat softly on her back. Each beat pumped love down her spine. The room was at ease.

The sun rose the next morning, as did Tony; but something was wrong, he could feel it. He looked at his wife who seemed to rest peacefully, so he kissed her cheek and proceeded with his Saturday morning ritual; pancakes and orange juice, and a single white rose from their garden.

He began to walk towards their room with breakfast in hand. Mary was usually awake by this time, but she laid in bed without movement. Tony was confused, but he looked at her with a smile; nothing was more beautiful to him than his wife, especially when she was asleep and the sunlight bled through the curtains to highlight her face. She was perfect without disruption or distraction, he could stare at her in fascination forever.

He tried to wake her with kisses on her cheek, her forehead and her lips. She didn't move. He shook her slightly and hoped for movement, but she was still. Tony was scared now, and listened for a heart beat, there was none. He checked for a pulse and found nothing. His 27 year old wife was dead. His world was empty now.

"Why?" Tony began to speak as tears ran down each cheek.

"My beautiful wife. Why must you leave me so soon? So lonely I am without you? I am nothing now."

He held his wife in his arms; tears were dropping like rain. He rocked her like a baby like that would help some how, but he was completely clueless in this situation. What is a man to do when he has lost life and love in the same breath?

The Art of Imagination

The troubles that are found in between the lines of words written are the false notions that fantasy can become reality. Some fanatical idea, or a dream of some sort, is hoped to be the real life experience for either the writer or the audience. There are different levels of fantasy; some deal with wealth, others reach perfect endings, and the rest seem to give hope for a love that reveals a constant happiness.

Let these words deal with constant happiness, providing the fantasy that is so great, it will give birth to a better reality. Imagine; closed eyes, ears full of sounds that fill the room, and hands free with the ready ability to feel the textures of mother earth. Free the mind, now imagine...

...continuous highs that grow higher and higher. No heartbreaks, or conflicts with characters which poses an antagonist and protagonist; rather know constant scenes of starlit nights on roof tops with poetic verses flowing out of the mouths of two lovers that grow in love by the second.

Now feel rain falling from the sky and the steam of lovemaking, and listen to the sounds of repeated orgasms that follow tears falling from the eyes of someone beautiful.

It shall be enjoyed by the masses that experience such dazzling artistry, and the imagination shall replace reality with these fantasies. The actual world lived in can be over taken by the power of the imagination, may such art be experienced in lives that suffer living in this world.

Poke me!

One day I made you laugh and you poked me.

So sexy, was the poke, but I don't believe that you understand the implications of your touch. You do not need to caress my body in some fancy way, not even rub my arm or feel my chest. No, just a slight poke, as if to push an on/off button.

But I forced myself to hide my attraction, my want to prey upon your body. If only you had known my thoughts, my desires to have you raw in all your rawness.

Now, I question. Should I give you my mind and knowledge of my thoughts? Would you appreciate my desires, or would you simply discredit them?

All of this comes from just a poke. The act of the edge of your finger touching the rim of my shoulder.

I wonder exactly what will happen when you touch me with your entire hand ...

I Wish

I wish I may see you; hug you , kiss you, touch you, feel you. If, with my right hand, I may run my fingers through your hair, feel your cheek in my palm; and with the left, lock my fingers with yours, I will find peace with the world. Since I am stuck without the possibility of holding you, I will grip my pen in hopes that you may understand my longing. When my pen conveys the emotions of my heart, you will feel my affection, as you run your fingers across the ink on the page. Know my admiration from the strategic pattern in which these words are placed. Believe in the power of your beauty, for I have become weak without its presence. My eyes have gone too long without the site of such perfection. God's magnificence is shown in your face, but your spirit is His testimony. Pity my emotion, give yourself to me in all, allow me the satisfaction of your admiration; if not out of true affection, please do so out of pity. I only wish to be with you.

After Death

My dear sweetheart, you possess a beauty that is worth more than this life can offer; I am left speechless as we stand here this way. I am amazed at how one may adore another while feeling the pains of the life we live. Though tears fall and rain drops, suns shine when your face is on the scene, and joy is prevalent. You have created a contradiction that has left me in knots trying to figure it out; how I may feel happiness and dreadfulness within the same breath. So if I may love you as I do in this present life, how much better would it be after death? After we rid ourselves of the troubles that come from tornadoes and hurricanes, and focus solely on our love for each other may heaven give us this joy. Only if God may condone this notion and send us to an early retirement will we be able to rest in the peace of love. I only hope now to enjoy death and your love.

Sweet Verse

May I inject love into you and cure your heart? Will you at least give me that opportunity, to see your eternal happiness? But if I stand unworthy of such a great gesture, then may someone of more noble stature fill your heart with ease. I want nothing more than to see and experience your complete satisfaction. So if I were able to sing, let me sing the notes that touch your soul. If I were to dance, let me move in such a way that captivates your interest. Yet if I were to write, let my words weigh heavy on your heart and brighten your emotions. I would call this romantic, but are these actions of romance? Would it be more romantic if I catered to all of your needs and supplied all of your wants? No matter the definition of romantic, or if there is even a word to describe what I do for you, know that I will be a good and faithful servant to you. May God bless this union, I will be all things for you, so that I may find a thousand ways to please you, another thousand ways to touch you, and a million ways to love who you are to me.

Beauty?

I am a man, not God. So I have no authority of any kind of judgment, which means I may give no credible explanation of what beauty is. Even though it may teeter the line of blasphemy, I will make an honest attempt. But my effort will not exceed that of a man picking up a feather, for I experience beauty daily. I have become lost in trails of where beauty takes me, I have cried at the absence of beauty, and have held the warmth and tenderness of that what is beautiful. If I may be the Beholder and granted the power of the Creator, I would create duplicates of what you are. Your beauty is that of perfection; great than the sounds of Mozart, and more outstanding than the sight of works done by Angelo. Your beauty I love; love with all of my heart and soul and mind.