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Jonathan Samuels Poem
It was something about the way she looked at me.
Just a deep look in her eyes that seemed to call me by my name.
A feeling of empty connection, and the longing for more.
I want to give her what she wants, what she’s calling for,
Her scarce, and provocative stare pulling me by my soul, into hers.
It was something about the way she walked.
A pace, of rushing steps that moved to my heartbeat,
An air of provocation, of intrigue, of seduction
A light, swaying gait, imperceptibly resembling a pendulum
Drawing my eyes back and forth across the ever-tilting line of her hips.
It was something about the way she smiled.
Only a light, swift grin that expressed nothing, and yet so much,
Spreading the tangled and inexplicable rush of emotions.
I want to let myself go, to indulge in the moment,
Her swift curl dying away in the usual, disenchanting manner.
It was something in the way she spoke.
Her words so concise, and yet two-sided
A sense of reliability, and comfort, only scarcely loosening to
A playful, taunting tone, that tightened up whenever I drew close
Or when our moments came to an end.
It was just something about her.
Her impression,
Her disposition,
Her Grace.
Copyright © Jonathan Samuels | Year Posted 2024
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Jonathan Samuels Poem
The Lover’s Leap
I know he never loved me.
If he did, he would have stopped me
Or taken me by the hand, the waist, the leg
And yet he dropped me.
He made me use my own two feet to run
To skip, to leap and run
To tasteless fantasies until my heart
And soul were gone and done.
I reached his heart, I thought, I hoped
But it was just his hand
I’m strung up in his nimble, charming hand
My hope buried in sand.
And yet this love, this fleeting, fiery love
The one that fills my soul enough
To overflow out of the nut that’s
Not so tough now
But then it is so tough so tough
So tough he promptly left
He left and laughed and let a laugh out
In my stupid crying face.
And when I made the jump,
The tip, the hem, the dress’ end was caught
In fingers long forgotten, still despised
And yet I never fought.
I am alive. You win again.
Copyright © Jonathan Samuels | Year Posted 2024
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Jonathan Samuels Poem
The Wail of the Mistress
In shadows thrown by city lights,
A soul awaits the darkest nights,
A mistress with a heart unknown,
Whose beauty shines, yet feels alone.
She walks the streets with graceful stride,
Her spirit wounded, deep inside,
Each step a tale of smothered pain,
In search of love she can't attain.
She pours her soul into her trade,
An art form woven in her braid,
But in the eyes of those who see,
Merely desire, not love, set free.
Through streets where secrets intertwine,
Her heart yearns for a love divine,
For in her depths, a wail does rise,
A longing echoed through her cries.
She dreams of arms that hold her tight,
Of whispered words that feel so right,
A love that sees beyond her guise,
To cherish her, to empathize.
Yet, in this world of fleeting lust,
Her heart feels broken, lost, unjust,
For though desired, she yearns to find,
A love that's pure, so true, so kind.
Oh, Mistress fair, don't lose your way,
For love may come, with dawn of day,
Seek not in shadows, but in light,
Where souls connect, erupt, unite.
In every heart, a yearning dwells,
To find the love that truly swells,
So let your wail be heard, my dear,
For love may find you, have no fear.
The Mistress, with her heart so vast,
Shall find a love that's meant to last,
For in her wail, a strength does lie,
To guide her to a love that's nigh.
Sit Deus benedicat anima tua.
Copyright © Jonathan Samuels | Year Posted 2024
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