Sestina Husband Poems | Sestina Poems About Husband

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Details | Sestina |

midnight summers eve kiss

My dreams were that of nothing but your kiss.
A lingering essence soothing frayed edges of my heart.
Heaven couldn’t breach the wonder of your touching
hands. They tickle memories invoked by the scent of your breath
against my cheek. This is but the taste I crave every night, every time
I feel days too long since you’ve returned the other half of my soul.

The awe and wonder will never cease, mated souls
Destiny declared to me, that our love and fated kiss
could bring forth in our lives eternities timeless 
bliss. I never knew that which seemed to be a heartless
world would provide a love that would become my very breath;
for surely I would die each night if I couldn’t wake and touch

your beautiful lips. For they are but the substance that touches
me to this world. They spew forth the nectar that feeds my soul.
With you I am Queen Nivea, crowned in baby’s breath
about my brow. A midnight summer's eve of magic kissing
the air about our pallet. In sleep I hear our heart
strings shimmering our own melodious melody of half time.

In you arms my slumber is light, every time
you nuzzle my nape, asleep yourself, your touch
stirs my blood from half doze to a stuttered heart
soaring reach. It's the dust of twilight that moves soul 
music through our heated blood. Your fluttered kisses
wafts into this hot dream to wake me with a fairies breath

riding my senses like white fire. Though our breathing
may be labored, this is not a frenzied moment, languish in time
and savor the bouquet of miracles brushing your moon kissed
back. Miracle that you are the only one who could soften my touch
from the warrior I tried to be. You alone brought life to a soulless
husk;  the balm and solvent that softened my calloused heart. 

Now fully aware I reach to find your heart
beat, and find it shuddering to the pace of my breath.
Caress the plane of my face and nape as our souls
unite. Whisper the language of lovers every time.
Just never stop this Shakespearean dream touched
eve, our very reality exist based on this kiss.

Though our hearts beat in all consuming time,
your the force of my breath. You are my grace touched
body of life, my soul, who feeds this void with a kiss.

Copyright © tara jennings | Year Posted 2010


Details | Sestina |

I Assumed You Loved Me

And so I see your moving mouth
Not a coherent word my ears hear uttered
I must not assume
You're apologizing for the affair
For your love I now rival
For your heart I now lust

And I think she must too lust
Lustful for those lips on your mouth
I am certain she’s my rival
Cursed words I have uttered
They did little to suspend the affair
I must not assume

I must not assume
You are not subject to lust
Lust fuels the fire of this affair
Again curses fly from my mouth
Dirty words from your lips are uttered
Into the ear of my sole rival

The war wages against my rival
I must not assume
All words between us uttered
Lacking love, losing lust
I long to hit you squarely in the mouth
I long to banish remnants of this affair

You repeatedly indulge in your affair
And spoil my rival
By kissing her demon mouth
I must not assume
It cannot be love but only lust
Evil wishes against her I have uttered

Hopeful wishes she has uttered
Longing for more than the affair
Love is blossoming from her lust
‘Til death do us part her I’ll rival
I must not assume
That you meant it when the words I love you left your mouth

From your mouth your love you've uttered
I must not assume it was not of the affair
Your mightiest rival is lust

Copyright © Nicole Signorelli | Year Posted 2007

Details | Sestina |

THE POSSESSIONS OF A YOUNGER AGE

Every boy has his toys,
and each girl her dolls;
and as they grow they are put away where light can't enter:
there in that closet, which often memory recalls
how delightful and merry their days were,
but wishing for a return is a constant, useless  prayer...



Everyone once had the possessions of a younger age,
some were precious and memorable, others simply painful and vacant; 
and who can remember being hugged and truly loved by all?
Many still reminisce the sad thought of having been offered none at all,
and how they longed to have felt a little, sweet taste! 
Nobody desired that more than I did, and only mother provided that!



Blue-bells seemed blither than I.. colored flowers that have no feel,
no soul to express their joy or sorrow, had I become like them?  
Larks and mockingbirds weren't as malcontent as I was indeed;
all they wished for was some rain and the quietest place to rest!
Oh, how much sympathy I felt...with no one loving them, but their Creator;
and my circumstances affirmed how true that really was for me to declare! 



An evil doer can be a father, who denies his children profound affection;
malice or thoughtlessness scars the hearts of the tender ones,
to become a malady or blight that leaves many fragments of broken lives;
and shouldn't someone grab them by the scruff of their necks, 
and put some sense into them when they intentionally induce pain?
This snarl...rebelled at such atrocity, although no slaps could prevent those tries!  


Husbands love your wives devotedly, 
mistresses are the cause of your adultery;
would the faithful ones pursue an extramarital affair?
And what are the consequences of your sin and surliness?
A curse from God for many generations,
to deny your little ones the possessions of a younger age!  


Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci

Copyright © Andrew Crisci | Year Posted 2009


Details | Sestina |

NO SCAR IS DEEPER THAN THIS ONE

When nobody embraced you to stop
those tears from falling and restore
your sense of existence which relied on prayer, 
not entirely on my comprehension and thought;
this guilt was my eternal damnation not
to have given an apology in a timely manner....


No scar is deeper than this one
when the weight of remorse can't be laid to rest,
long before I said all the unpleasant words,
I should have considered kindness,
and took a closer look at the pitiful one;
I ask myself how I resorted to madness!


Some men intentionally hurt their sweethearts,
feeling no compassion in their accusations,
and keep on lashing at them as if they were the guilty ones;
o most of us are the delirious fools acting on a stage without an audience,
where we don't see ourselves as we actually are, weakening the fortitudes
of those we should love and hold to our chests!


No scar is deeper than this one,
hidden in shame for the fear of revealing its pain...
somewhat indignant and reluctant to come out and face alone
the punishment for its malevolent intent;
and what can torment us is this conscience tarnished by stain,
so why be heartless and uncaring when love can heal our hurt?

     
Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci

Copyright © Andrew Crisci | Year Posted 2009