Poetry

All the Lonely People

I struggle often
–daily almost–
wondering why
there are so many lonely people
when I have so much love to give.
Why is my love not good enough for men?
Why does my body fat make me unqualified
to give and receive love?
What makes men so self-absorbed
that they think that women are only loveable
if they wear a size two?
What does my dress size have to do
with the size of my heart?
Why is love only desirable
when it comes from a skinny body?

Somehow, the math just doesn’t add up.

And loneliness abounds
while I drown in my own love.

©2017 WoodLeatherLace.com

Do You Remember Me?

The woman on the radio sings,
“I will remember you.
Will you remember me?”
I ask myself the same question.
Do you remember me?
Do you still think of me?
I think of you daily,
often multiple times a day.
I don’t want to,
but you won’t leave my mind.

I see random things that remind me of you.
I go to our special places and think of you.
I drive by restaurants we went to together and think of you.

I wonder if you think about me,
but I’m guessing you’ve found a way
to shove me to the dark recesses of your mind
where you’d rather I stay.
Most men seem pretty good at that.

I’ve accepted that I’ll never hear from you again.
I’m as ok with that as I can be.
It still hurts like hell,
but I know eventually that pain will fade.

Our love ended because you couldn’t see me.
You couldn’t see the amazing woman that I am.
I could see you in all of your brilliance,
but you cannot see yourself.
You struggle to love yourself.
You don’t know how powerful you are.
Until you learn how to love yourself
you won’t be able to love others
in the way that I loved you.

You said to me on my birthday,
“The right person at the wrong time
is still the wrong person.”
How bitterly prophetic those words were.
You are the right person
but we are on different times.
In five years, you will be absolutely perfect
for the me of today,
but in five years,
I will be a completely different person.
The timing is just wrong.

I wish so much that our love ended differently.
I wish you were still my friend.
I wish that we could still share those intimate moments,
the ones that made me fall for you in the first place.

I still remember you.
Do you remember me?

©2017 WoodLeatherLace.com

Kissing

Kissing
is sacred to me.
I crave it more
than any other touch.

It’s been ages since I’ve been kissed.
I fantasize daily
about the man of my dreams
showing up in my life
and kissing me passionately.

He shows no hesitation.
He knows he wants me.
His lips reach for mine
desperate to connect on the same
deep physical
yet spiritual level.

Our hearts race
as our lips touch
our touches caress
our caresses stimulate
our stimulation satisfies.
We smile as we break away
looking in each other’s eyes
knowing how much more there is to come.

Kissing is such a strange concept.
If we were to see
two squirrels in the park
locking lips and
shoving their tongues
in each other’s mouths,
we’d think they were crazy.

Yet watching two humans
gazing into each other’s eyes
touching each other’s faces
leaning in and brushing their lips against
the other’s willing lips.
Slowly their lips part,
tongues tentatively touching,
desire building and growing,
passion developing with every passing second.
It’s arousing.
It’s stimulating.
It’s highly erotic.
It’s sexy beyond words.
It speaks to our deepest desires.

I miss that touch,
that eroticism,
that connection.
I crave a man wanting me
loving me
needing me
lusting after me
kissing me
simply
intimately
passionately.

©2017 WoodLeatherLace.com

The Simplest of Things

It was the simplest of things.

We sat on a bench talking
sharing the deep intimacy that formed naturally between us.
Spiritual siblings
loving so intimately and so deeply
that neither of us had words to explain our love’s power.

Agape we said.
Deep spiritual love.
A love filled with intimacy beyond compare.

Yet it was platonic.
There was no kissing.
No sex.
Just love, intimate and pure.

Until that day
when unintentionally
you changed everything.

As we sat on a bench, my hand resting flat,
you placed your hand on top of mine
interweaving your fingers with mine
closing them tightly around my fingers
uniting us together
creating an intimacy
a love
an irresistible power
that brought down every shield already barely standing around my heart.

To you, it was just a casual touch
an affirmation of our friendship.
To me, it was so much more.
That one simple act
was more spiritual, more intimate, more loving
than all of the sex with my recent lovers combined.
It touched my soul.
and eros began rising within me.

Yet as quickly as it happened,
it became nothing.
Everything disappeared.
The love was gone
because to you,
that gesture
that sacred touch
that intermingling of fingers and souls,
it meant nothing.
Nothing at all.

©2017 WoodLeatherLace.com