hhhmm.. makes a “girl” blush.
The anatomy of a LOVE letter never starts with the structure of a rhythmical verb to noun, nor does it begin with pen to paper or even flesh between the silken sheets. It evolves from a penetrating energy within the electric mind that is synergistically funneled through Source. The brain has more frequency in power of expression, than the tips of your fingers to paper. Some poetry rarely has to be written.. for it already exists in a whole other form.
Throughout my entire adult life, I have received endlessly beautiful compliments from the opposite sex. Poetic energy finds ENERGY and even though I am getting older.. “they” seem to be getting younger. I am involved in so many projects with my writings to be published, and one of them is a book of poetry on the “love” letter. Not all about love.
The bewildering part of my latest muse, it all is that he is astonishingly twenty-three years younger than my birthright. During my experienced lifetime, I have met a menagerie of soulmates. We have more than just one floating about in this mystical universe, believe it or not. Nonetheless, when an encounter such as this significance begins to manifest, whether it is only for a day, a few hours of corresponding or years of attachment.. it alters my individual life in a multitude of ways where my voice is never the same, where I transcend my imagination and fluid fantasy to another level in creative writing. Where he ruffles through my empty bedroom sheets and allows me to crave for him like no other. Where his energy stains a seeping hole in a place that can never be filled, through the tumultuous aching of wanting something I unquestionably cannot have. Where intimately words of expression root inside of my pumping heart; allowing my veins to feel what I have hungered to sexually experience in live temple, but cannot due to the “reality” of current circumstances. It was for this entrapment of his sensuality being directed towards me, that made me begin recognizing what a cursed love of living decades older than my sexual pursuer.
Not being able to seduce his flesh the way I could have if I were his age. It is this beautiful young man, the mind-shattering energy behind his sugared yearning for me, which has sensually catapulted one of my books being currently written. He is the one who has guided my uncontrolled fingers into a forked direction of splitting my mind into a third dimension of role-play fantasy. Flawed by time. Ruined by distance.
His name is Vicente..
which my lips whisper constantly in want for him..
at this moment in time..
and this is some of what he recently wrote to me
in simple form..
~ Because i know you and i feel you know me, without having met
~ And you seem full of life
~ I would love to Live in your heart for one day
~ Just know that i would love to lay in your arms indefinitely
~ You are beautiful
~ Youth means not so much to me
~ I can feel your presence
~ Your are alive
~ I’d love to Live a day with you
~ I can feel your beauty
~ I wish i could make you feel it forever
~ I want to share it with you (my beauty)
~ I guess the thought of embracing you is beautiful and although intangible, makes it more beautiful
~ I wish i could touch you, you are far but close, i well visit you soon possibly in December
~ I wish i should share a union of thoughts and touch with you
~ Please don’t take that as an immature statement, I’m sincere in what i say
~ I will see you
~ Your words sing to me
~ Age does not mean much to. me as it may to you , thinking about our meet seems more and more real, the more i think about it
~ I am curious to see where we will end up
~ I also feel the decision for me to see you is mine, and I am getting reassured by the minute that i will not regret this decision