Curled Up In You

Curled up in ringlets
Electric parts of you,
Shoulder length distractions
Thoughts are all askew,
Hope for sleep abandoned
Your pillow’s made for two,
Nose to nose connection
Our favored point of view.

Random touches, random whispers,
Fingers playing finders keepers,
Hidden fragrance in your smile,
Let me breathe you for a while.

Chastened by your virtue
Encouraged by your sighs
Midnight flame rekindled
My heat for you reprise
Lip to lip conversing
Your whispered lows and highs
Murmurs of affection
Tell our little white lies

Random touches, random whispers,
Fingers playing finders keepers,
Hidden fragrance in your smile,
Let me breathe you for a while.

Twisted round your fingers
Tingling from their burn,
Fingers trace your love lines
Your body’s pathways learned,
Spilling me your secrets
In early night we turn,
Eye in eye reflections
Of flowering bud’s return.

Random touches, random whispers,
Fingers playing finders keepers,
Hidden fragrance in your smile,
Let me breathe you for a while.

17 thoughts on “Curled Up In You

  1. Long, happy, loving marriages exemplify one way life is so beautiful. I am often moved to tears when I see a sweet elderly couple. I’ve never been loved, but it makes me happy knowing it exists: I’ve always been a believer. I’ll never become cynical. And non-romantic loves fill me up enough. I love your love stories and that you are living it in real life.

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    1. I’m a romantic for sure. But, most of my writing expresses my deep yearning, my continued wish to experience romantic love again. My Muse left a long time ago, and my writings are letters to her, the woman who last caressed my heart in her hands. It’s most unfortunate that I don’t have any photos of us; and I’m the guy who always carried a camera everywhere I went. My novel, Honey Ko/A Wished-For Love/The River Between Us (I’ll have to choose one eventually) incorporates my Muse, Susanna, talking from beyond the grave to my MC, Tom Nelson. All of those conversations are in my Susanna Avila folder. Every love poem I’ve written could be filed under Susanna Avila. I posted this chapter, A Wished-For Love, Chapter Twelve, last August; it pretty much sums up Susanna and me. I came close to finding romantic love again, but it ended too when she realized I couldn’t give her what she sought. I may have posted TMI, but my blog is where my heart bleeds.

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      1. Well that made me tear up in empathy. I thought you currently had that in your marriage. Ugh. I was so happy for you. Does your wife know you write about Susanna? (Is that too bold to ask? I have just been curious.) My romance-writing muse is a person who exists who I used to be in contact with but never even met who is on WP currently collaborating with the official WP whore (what are the odds?). I might have wandered over to that site to add salt to my wound last night, hence last night’s poems. Since he was the one who got me into writing poetry last year, it’s hard to be here and write poetry, to separate all of it. I bury the romantic dreams most of my life to survive. I was in a long, bad marriage prior to that and have zero self-esteem and a resulting irrational fear of rejection as a result. So I have no experience with romantic love apparently. I just started socializing on WP again. I probably shouldn’t yet. I’m probably not ready. I have a lot of healing to do still. I’m liable to run away at any moment. Don’t get attached to my words.

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      2. It’s dormant, not dead. To say my marriage is worth saving is unfair to my wife because our marriage isn’t on the rocks and neither of us has a desire to see it end. 2014 was both the year I began earnestly writing my novel and poetry, and the year from hell in our marriage. I don’t think the two are unconnected. I think my writing began as a way to deal with the pain of a marriage in turmoil. If I were going to end my marriage it would have been then. My wife is a personal trainer and had three concussions in about four years – two in the gym – and whatever effects they caused seemed to have peaked in 2014. Since then she’s been gradually healing; I’ve seen the change. The doctor on base said an MRI showed nothing wrong so that’s a relief. We’ve talked about this but she doesn’t see it the way I do, the raging anger and cutting words. So, maybe I’m the one who’s at fault.I don’t know. All I know is 25 years of happy marriage changed almost overnight leaving me bewildered at what happened. I wrote this to her to help get it off my chest: That’s Jayne in the photo.
        She knows of Susanna and our past, but she doesn’t read my writing or visit my blog. She read all my college papers, though, and red inked all over them; all to the good 🙂

        I wavered on whether to let on that the romance was gone, but my writing is based on truth, as your is, and I couldn’t let you think I was blissfully happy in my marriage. Not at the moment, but there’s hope. I believe marriage is forever, I believe we both made the right choice, and I believe we will have a happy ending. My parents married two months after they met, and stayed married for 48 years when my dad died. Jayne and I married two months after we met… there’s precedence 🙂

        There are too many similarities in our lives, emotions, and writing; if you run away we both lose something. No one could tell in a million years that you fear rejection or have zero self-esteem. I fought those feelings for DECADES and still have to steel myself occasionally when dad wants to break through and call me no good and tell me I’ll never amount to anything. Hah! I showed him (I’ll brag later 🙂

        I started writing and sharing my writing to keep my courage, build my self-esteem, bare my soul, to keep the romantic dream alive, and to let myself feel good about the one thing I do extremely well and am proud of: my ability to tug peoples’ emotions, to pull tears from their hearts, laughter from their souls, and to make them see the world I want them to see. If I took you there with Skipping Stones, where else can I take you or any of my readers? I guess my writing goal is twofold: to keep my life in order, and to take people away from the present for the time it takes to read a few paragraphs. My writing heals me and my readers.

        You project strength and confidence in your writing, but also vulnerability and longing. You have a great talent; don’t hide it under a bushel. I’m already attached to your words. They’ve touched me. That’s no mean feat. Well, maybe it is; I’m a damn sentimental fool 🙂 ❤

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