Tag Archive | Destiny

Inside the Ivy-Veiled Wall

Artist Rudy Nappi; pinterest.com

A harsh breeze ruffles curtains
As summer changes to fall
A whistle of coldness blows and echoes
Outside the ivy-veiled wall.

A dash of wind
Brings flames to life
By a fireplace warm and cozy

Inside the mood is set for love
Our passion the fire’s heat.

Throb, my heart, with lovesick joy
To devour love complete.

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Finding Crisantha

Artist Edwin Georgi; pinterest.com

A Friday-Night Date-Night Short Story:

So I wasn’t invited to the dance. I didn’t care. Except that I did. Her name was Crisantha. Gorgeous eyes as bright as bluebells, long curly hair like a flowing river valley, and a smile that melted my heart the moment I laid eyes on her. I had wanted to take her to the dance on the day I had heard about it, but someone who was more important than someone else heard that I heard about it and make a ruckus. He found a way of keeping out all the lesser important types and making the dance invitation-only – to which I received none, naturally.

But Crisantha was there. And I was here – moping, waiting for the next move. Outside my window, rain fell down in sheets and relentlessly pounded the gravel driveway, making ankle-deep puddles. I had no car, no motorcycle, no bike, and no invitation. I just stared out into the rain and wondered what Crisantha was looking like in a formal dress. Something like a princess, a bride, an angel. By the top of the hour when my clock chimed, I had made up my mind. What was the point of staying dry when getting wet was going to get me to Crisantha? So I charged out the door and splashed through muddy puddles, letting the squall douse every inch of me. I ran and ran until I was out of breath and had to stop, bending over, placing my hands on my knees, and panting like a rabid beast. But when I looked up, I was there – standing outside the dance hall with rain showering over me.

How I got past the door guard, I’ll never know. I must have come later than they assumed anyone would, so he was off doing who-knows-what with who-knows-whom. At once, I barged through the double-doors like I owned the place. It was packed, as expected. Lively music echoed off the four walls in the warehouse-size hall and people in formal dress were dancing swing, whipping each other around like ragdolls. I knew the dance. Seen it once before. That was the extent of my skill at it, too. But I still had to find Crisantha no matter what it took.

As I meandered across the crowded dance floor, people stopped and gasped, staring and murmuring at the guy who came in from the rain soaking wet without formal clothes. I grinned and nodded at some, winked at others. Then I saw her. She was a vision across the dance floor and immediately I shuffled around a group of dancers so that she wouldn’t see me and I would spin right into… her arms. As she fell into me, she gasped with a squeal.

Instinctively, she pulled away, but I held her to me tightly and wouldn’t let go. To keep the rhythm going, I swayed and felt the warmth of her body against mine. She was lovelier than I imagined she would look, her dress maroon and fuchsia with a long, flowing, ruffled skirt. And those bluebells captured me once again.

“Davey!” she cried in recognition with that wide smile I loved. “How did you…? And why are you all wet?”

“I had to get here before it ended,” I replied, staring deeply into her eyes.

“Why?” she asked, seeming to know the answer already.

This was it. I stopped swaying, placed my hand gently on her cheek, and crushed my lips to hers. Elation tore through us like fire over water and with that one kiss, she finally knew my intentions. I was delighted to discover that she felt the same about me. It was in her kiss, her tongue on mine, her hold around my waist and not letting go, regardless of the fact that I was soaking wet and she looked like Cinderella. Our kiss that night had one of those time-stands-still moments with the forever-in-love kind of heart connection.

When I withdrew and gazed once again into her eyes, I said her name, slowly over my mouth so that I could feel each syllable on the nerve ends of my tongue touching my lips. “Crisantha…”

“Hmm?” she groaned with her arms wrapped all the way around my waist. Her face was soft and glowing.

“Let’s get out of here,” I grinned.

A smile crept onto her face slowly, her eyes shining. “Let’s go!”

As I held her hand, we rushed past the stiffs – the invitation-only’s, the important people who hung with other important people – and crashed through the double-doors out into the pouring rain, laughing together without a care in the world.

Her Book Boyfriend

Artist Edward Runci; pinterest.com

On a windswept beach
under a golden sun
bathing in the cool shade,
she stenciled a heart
into the soft sand
and dreamed of him.
Her lover was larger than life
In every way,
Walking tall and strong,
Protecting what was his,
Romancing what was hers,
Enjoying what was theirs.
Her fantasy,
Her mirage,
Her apparition.
Seductive
Alluring
Invincible
Was his look,
his walk,
his touch.
She came here to be with him
To soak in his smile
To graze his sweet lips
To make her skin tingle
To make her heart flutter
To make her folds simmer.
He was here in her heart and mind
Bursting from the page
To ensnare her delicate essence.

The Dance

Artist Jose Luis Benicio; pinterest.com

Alabaster clouds of cotton hung in an otherwise deep beryl sky as a gentle summer breeze wafted across the plains. Tree branches leisurely swayed in the hot afternoon, and the chirping of birds as they flitted about peppered the land with peace.

Strumming my guitar, I sang a dance number for Ava Lucia who clacked in her heels across the boarded wooden floor with ease, grace, and polish. As I played, I feasted my eyes upon her and fell in love with the dream of my desire. Ava Lucia swayed her hips back and forth, flipping up the front of her dress, teasing me with her creamy smooth thighs. Her lovely long curly black hair tossed about as she danced, and the rhododendron behind her ear made her irresistible. I enjoyed scrutinizing her hour-glass figure and deliciously exposed skin under her revealing white blouse.

Many times I had seen her dance, but this was the first time she had danced just for me. My heart quickly intensified like a lion on the prowl as my body responded to her dance with the fire of passionate wantonness.

Yet her expression was melancholy, so I placed my guitar down beside the edge of the bench and my heart went out to her.

Stopping in her dance mid-stride, Ava Lucia spun around to face me. If I had known earlier that she would glare at me as she was now, her beauty as brilliant as the shining sun, I would have put my guitar down long ago.

“Why did you stop?” she demanded.

I gazed deeply into her sparkling eyes and strode confidently right up to her, my hand finding her waist, yanking her into an embrace. “I cannot bear to see you this way,” I told her with my breath on her lips. “You dance the steps with anger. What he did to you was wrong.”

“It is my heart he broke,” she replied, not budging from my embrace. “Not yours.”

“But I care, Ava Lucia,” I said, my heart racing, my lips wanting to devour hers. “Can’t you see that? I have fallen in love with you. Desperately in love.”

“But I,” she began, fighting her feelings, pulling away, but it was no use. Her heart had been drawn in just as deeply as mine. “I …” Finally her mouth smothered mine as her hands found their position on both sides of my face, deepening the entrance of her tongue, which pressed hard against mine. I returned the kiss, twice as passionate, and wrapping my arms around her waist, lifted her into the air. With the warmth of her body on mine, I carried her over to the couch, where we would continue the dance, without instruments or steps, but only our fervent mutual aphrodisia.

Longing and Waiting

hdwallpaper

Morning on the lake was placid solitude. Birds chirped in harmony, whose tweeting echoed across the surface of the water to find a home in Oleander’s heart. She had been lying in her rowboat overcome by hardships, torn from the inside, crushed by every single blow of life. But here, in this place where green mountains and rocky cliffs rose at the water’s edge, she sensed the contentment that grows deep within and comes from a source unknown to most but known to some.

And she breathed.

An inhale long and slow and lovely, an exhale to push away the longing in the deepest recesses of her soul. How could she not think of him? Her darling love that had been away too long, soon to return, he had promised. But recent misfortunes had come into her life without him one after another, and she desperately missed his arms, his touch, his kiss.

This was their lake. Hours of passionate lovemaking in the lakeside inn would always lead back here, a row in the boat over calm waters that spoke peace to their hearts and nourished their love. He would hold her, and they would kiss and melt together into lovers’ bliss.

As she dipped her foot over the edge of the boat into the cool water, she closed her eyes and dreamed of him. She could see his eyes now and almost feel them watching her, always with love, and sometimes with lust. It felt good to be wanted, desired, loved.

And then a sound cut the water, the birds, the morning, and the dream. No, it couldn’t be! She sat up quickly and her heart skipped a beat. Another boat in the distance was rowing its way in her direction. Was it? Could it be?

Tears trickled to the surface and filled her eyes as she cupped her hands over her mouth. As the boat drew nearer, she saw him, his face radiant with a smile, her lasting hope and joy.

He was here.

Under a Canopy of Love

Artist Edwin Georgi; pinterest.com

As the day yielded to a cool summer evening, we strolled among the apple orchards whose thick branches lifted over us like a canopy of love.

Quiet was the wind that blew peacefully along the grassy ground, its blades yielding sweetly to your feet with every step.

Tenderly I wrapped my jacket over your shoulders, desiring to soothe your chill with warmth.

“I love you,” I whispered, knowing full well that beginning tonight, my life would never be the same because you were in it.

Slow Dance of Enchanting Words

Artist Jim Schaeffing; picssr.com

My words breathe sultry over your ear, the caress of my salacious discourse that finds its way into your pores, through your veins, and straight to your heart. You shudder at my amorous enticement that sends first shivery goose bumps, then incandescent passion, and finally pure bliss. These words of mine draw out your extraordinary essence, a woman of refinement and poise, of beauty and desirability. And you bathe in their tantalizing effect that stirs tiny orgasmic microseisms beginning at the whisper in your ear and spreading lower in warmth and flame.

Next come my lips, a delicate kiss against your ear lobe, evoking a gasp, a moan, a pulsation in your voice, in your breath as you exhale. Trailing down your cheekbone, my lips ingest your velvet skin one brush at a time, slowly, languidly, delighting in the touch of your softness and the aura of your warmth.

Finally come my hands, stalwart and forthright, rugged yet sensitive. The one on your bare shoulder slides lower, trailing delicious curves and resting on your hip, drawing you madly against mine. My other hand like a feather slides your dress strap down your arm, letting it hang over your elbow until it slips further down. When the strap on the other side follows suit, you turn to face me, your eyes a glowing fire within, your breath quick-paced and eager.

As our lips meet with life-sustaining intensity, the words that I planted in your heart earlier suddenly blossom into a rose, a flower ready to be tended and watered.