Forward motion is caught by the ref,
obviously not following the maestro.
On the line of scrimmage ready to go,
too quick with that jump from their spot.
Barrels of ambition elbows will rub,
a return for a touchdown fill my quota!
Lighting up a Jumbotron with control,
like a boss threw a perfect spiral ball.
Sitting on my hands in the nosebleeds
entranced by every move they make.
All I want is a touchdown extravaganza,
so don’t get sloppy. No interceptions.
On the road or with an at home scenario?
Never doubt the power of the 12th man.
“Her smile as captivating as a blooming rose
her eyes as dating as it shames the bluebells petals of beaus
It seemed so opposed yet I wanted to foreclose
She was the luminescence of my interceptions
As a fluorescence, she came to me in my deceptions
Enriching up my conceptions,
Yet is that all that she makes me please?
A glorious image in repeat?
Something that seems to discreet
Yet, in my reminiscence called dreams, she’s always my receptance
Yet, never seems to befall in her own conceptions
But always pleases that luminescence that burns in my inceptions
A fire that burns in her right
However, dissolves in my sight”
Tangled
in satin sheets
…who sleeps?
Spooning affection
Lips consideration
Midnight reflections
Sighs interceptions
Firelight crackling behind the grate
Shivers, racing to the moon, escape
Whispers
in passion’s throw
…we know
Captured caressing
Intimate undressing
Forever addressing
True love’s blessings
Roses, delicate pink, release their scent
Desires, intricate link, now blissfully spent
Tangled
in satin sheets
…repeat
©Debra Squyres*
2015/01/03
Written for: “Rock me around the clock or Rock me to sleep”… member contest.
Sponsored by: Sheri Fresonke Harper
*Note: Not my usual kind of write as I usually steer away from sensual/intimate poetry.
(Yes it still makes me blush even being over 50 yrs old and I’m not convince my Mom would approve!!!)
The parameters of the contest were intriguing and I tried to center on what would rock my clock.
Though it’s been a while…. I think I remembered it pretty well and hope this doesn’t offend anyone.
(Are cheeks supposed to be this red??)
Telephonic spies.
Politicians are afraid.
Honest guys don’t care.
A WRONG TURN,
STARTED OFF WITH A MAP,
PERFECT DIRECTIONS,
NO MAJOR INTERCEPTIONS,
THEN ONE DAY I TOOK A WRONG TURN,
MANY MOONS UNTIL YEARS,
ALL THEM FABULOUS CHEERS WENT TO TEARS,
THE WATER AND SODA’S WENT TO BEERS,
THE STARS DISAPPEARED,
THIS I ONE DAY FEARED,
THE LIGHT IN YOUR EYES FADED,
ALL WARMTH IN YOUR SMILE VANISHED,
IT WAS LIKE OUR PERFECT ENGLISH COMMUNICATION WENT TO SPANISH,
LOVE THAT WAS MADE ALL THESE YEARS,
SEEMED OVER WORKED AND UNDERPAID,
I MUST HAVE TAKEN A WRONG TURN,
BACK THERE SOMEWHERE ON THE JOURNEY,
I WENT FROM LIVING ON LOVE TO LIVING ON A GURNEY,
CAN’T FIX IT LIKE A FLAT. (KNEW I SHOULD HAVE MADE MY OWN MAP),
THERE’S NO GOING BACK…
I ALREADY MADE THAT WRONG TURN.
Moved beyond the glow, volcanic fires
Gigantic flares exude to this domain,
Sharing what is essentially our desires
Acceptance is white hot, we come again.
For every ounce of force there is recede
The many thrusts of rage that share a time
In coming with each other to concede;
The fact remains, we cool to wait the climb.
It heals the rift between the stubborn split
Of virginal desires that spare the rod,
To bridge perspiring atmospheres that hit
The temperatures that uppermost can prod.
Between the gates of heaven there is. Well!
The saturates to drift betrothal vows;
To overcome the centuries indeed swell,
Where copulations need the great arouse.
The flow of each sensation moves about,
Like nothing on this earth can fully load,
The mound is fully filled, and roustabout
Becomes the baby’s maker, both explode.
As the interceptions feels the tingle move,
Euretha spurts as nature’s aftercare
The slag is more subsidence than a groove,
Indeed it is, to push the land elsewhere.
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