The Subtlety of Softness

[Julien]

This is the beginning of my own collection of poetry and musings about love, passion, and lust. Enjoy.

[Julien]

New
the subtlety of softness is blond,
her caress conforms to the contours of her lover's skin
molding, melting two lovers into the flesh of one
heat licks and singes the tips of her fingers
under the softness is a palpable strength that divides and stimulates
she is the kiss of first love
moist, tender, searching
scared yet curious, willing yet reserved,
caution makes her hesitate
hesitation not from some inner fear or uncertainty of her lover's needs and desires
but of the possibility of two

Julien F. 11/3/11

[Julien]

Your eyes say what your voice cannot.
Emotions cry out yet your tongue is silent.
Why does fear hinder your speech?
You body, your touch communicate much more
than words can ever say.
I can feel the expression of love within your arms;
your touch speaks to me in a language my body understands.
No longer am I empty.
No longer do my arms want for something I did not know existed
To enfold you in my arms in to complete a circle
to create something unending and fulfilling.
Do not be afraid, we speak the same language
even though we are silent.

Julien F. 11/3/11

[Julien]

Is Truth an Illusion?
Truth like illusions cannot be grasped tightly or manipulated
for it can dissipate like a winter's breath.
Truth taken lightly without a second thought withers,
as does pure innocence.
The presence of truth ensures the acceptance of trust.
Growth and understanding of ourselves and others
will not be empty or lonely.
Without truth and trust there can be no union of lovers, no creation of forever.
Like an illusion its existence cannot be touched.
While we are unable to "hold" truth in our hands,
we are able to enfold the truth within ourselves.
Its beauty lifts us to a place uninhibited by deception or deceit.
Truth is not an illusion, it is an extension of trust that must be nurtured and taken into our lives.
Our entity thrives on the reality of truth, without it we cannot be complete.


Julien F. 11/4/11

[Julien]

Leaves of Thought

Thoughts like leaves in a breeze drift aimlessly through my mind,
lingering briefly on echoes of the past.
Rough, brown sorrows teeter on the edge of complete disintegration deceive me into believing my pain is dead.
Decay of the past defeats and tortures give way to rebirth of new thoughts.
A lush vibrancy of supple skin full of moisture and youth.
Growth and expansion of new untouched areas create a curious sensation in my mind.
Light freedom from oppressive grey yesterdays,
I feel hopeful that what I have not yet seen or touched will be tainted by my unresolved sorrows.
Thoughts like leaves drift, some are brown and torn, others are green and vibrant.
All occupy the space of my inner self
They interact in a whirlwind of activity, constantly touching blending and influencing what has come before or yet to be realized.
My thoughts are my leaves, green with youth, brown with decay,
forever aging for the new thought, the new growth to take its place,
or ultimately becoming my past.

Julien F. 11/4/11

[Julien]

The Storm of Passion
The passion of a spring storm begins,
Clear blue sky gives way to grey laced clouds.
They expand covering the body of blue encompassing calmness with it anticipation of release.
Quickly the heat builds, the swollen thickness of the voluptuous soft form.
Their shape pulses and throbs with powerful vibrations coursing through without obstruction.
Dampness coats the air, condensation of liquid creating droplets of dew,
engorging themselves until they drop only to build pools of slick rivulets blending into the crevices.
Clouds swell with tension, their colors become flushed with an intense need for release.
They weigh heavily, filled with the promise of climax.
The unmistakable natural scent drifts through the air
creating memories of past passions.
Flashes of lightening repeatedly convulse within the folds.
Their intensity heightens as the air becomes close and volitile.
Soon the rumblings merge with the undulations of the flashes of sensitivity,
separation is impossible as they build with a crescendo to the most powerful cleansing of the entire expanse.
The atmosphere contracts and reverberates with a roar of thunder and moisture.
After the culmination of heat and the moist air, the tingling vibrations slowly subside to a low rumble of memory.

Julien F. 11/5/11