Hope against all past
He really sees me.
Art by: Henry Asencio
Always seems to capture my emotions perfectly with his prose.
You must have sensed it too.
You must have felt it.
The change in the light. The decline in intensity.
The words less muscular. The energy less charged. The sexuality less certain.
The sensuality softened. The passion all spent.
There is a reason for his being here, but he is no longer sure what it is.
He only knows that he is fading faster. Day by day. Night by night.
And that these pages leave less distinct, fainter, softer, impressions.
They are no longer compelling.
He can only give you shadows.
It isn’t enough for him.
Or for you…
Painting by Anne Magill
How perfectly this describes the struggle of letting go and falling in. Love this writer, if you are in need of soul inspiring work, check his blog out.
She tries to resist.
She wants to resist.
Or at least she tells herself so.
But this is not an assault from outside. It is a mutiny from within.
A coup. A rising in her blood. An insurrection in her bones. The rebellion of her skin.
Her desire confronts her. Her hunger weakens her. Her yearning betrays her.
She instructs herself she will not fall. Yet she is falling.
She promises herself she will not submit. But her submission thrills her.
She pretends she is in control, but she has already laid down her arms.
She belongs to him.
But she has not let herself know.
© the author writing as Romantic Dominant
Photo stolen from Marrakesh
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