Your eyelids gently fall together like dying butterfly wings. Your bosom swells like a tumor. Your beautiful lips silently anticipate and your body heaves to and fro. Passion the wild stallion. Pride the statue and desire the forgotten child.
The names of your previous lovers stay secret to your lips and what do I care, for my own lovers are sacred to me. You tremble in your sleep as your memory stirs, your flesh begs for the master of erotica, you sleep beyond your beauty.
You who are the lovers of my dreams will you lie still when you awake and I am by your side? Will you embrace me like a river to a stone?
In the early morning sunlight your faces break into sunshine smiles, I know why many men have loved you deep into the night. So few have been worthy, even I.
Your flesh is a garden. Your soul a poem.
If you had been my lover before the one who stole my virginity, there would have been no other. My hands shake like tambourines, yet when my hands caress your breasts, they feel so desolate. You smell of forbidden spices. In your face I see the face of another.
A museum of flowers.
I listen to the torture of your alibi, like the death of a drunkard. You hate my confessions. Yet you greet me when the sun removes its blindfold, and shines its light upon tired lovers.
Where is the cape you wore last night? Where are the eyes that turned back the moonlight? Where is the face I saw in the mirror?
Our hearts are burnt but free
And with the sunrise history breaks loose, our eyes meet without really looking and nervous laughter passes into oblivion.
You, a servant
Me, a slave
You, a worker
I, a factory
You, a mosaic
Me, a puzzle
Too much freedom invites the death of sanity. Crazy love comes like an old prophet out of exile. You were here and gone like an old street car.
When we leave this bed it will be the mattress where I lied one more miserable time and goodbye is nothing new.
My penis is a janitor sweeping through your corridor. Our hearts as rusted as an old Cadillac. For a moment your are my mistress, you are old yet you are young. For a moment you are mine but you belong inside your own heart. The only one you can trust.
I am the hunter
I am the hunted
I am an old telephone number
I am a changed email address
I am the lake from which your heart shall catch the rain
I shall make your nipple rise and your spirit bleed. I am the war that you will rage. I am your flag of surrender. I am just a place in your time.
You are everything that I have lost
"I've been loved this way before", you cried before me, "Never has a man loved me like a son upon a cross"
You are just a shadow above an old empire.
When the night has gone, you who are the lovers of my dreams will have loved in vain.
For the heart is blind to lovers like us.
We are sleeping when the kisses torch us
We are traitors to our mothers who loved us so well
If you stay a little longer in my dreams you will be a song upon my breath. You will submit to my vulgarity.
You will be the image of me and I of you
You will be lost in your lust and I in your beauty
You will be the ghost of my solitude
Your sex would stain my bed and jealousy would raise its ugly head but still I would want you.
The burden of a singer without a song fills his cup with bitter wine.
A woman without a man is a woman, a man without a woman is nothing
The first time I saw you naked my hand turned into a harp and my voice into a choir.
You who are the lovers of my dreams can never be my lovers when I awake
For you are perfect. I am Unholy. I am a beggar for your breath
You who are the lovers of my dreams I thank you. For coming to me in my dreams
You who are the lovers in my dreams comfort me. Come to me.
Take my dream inside your heart.
You who are the lovers of my dreams.
Your eyelids open as if butterfly wings on a morning breeze........
You who are the lovers in my dreams
I like this image, Phil. . . embrace me like a river to a stone
.~ Lizzy
[An aside on this quote ~ I bought a magazine today with an article on Steve Irwin. Your phrase also reminds me of how he felt about his animals. In the cover photo, his love, passion, embrace, and sheer joy and bliss were in his eyes. Steve truly lived his bliss.]