The Wait

Well strung, the string on which you hang
Suspense–so tense, I sense your form
Has waited long enough
A strum, my fingers brush your strings
Some low and pleading song you breathe
Perhaps the time has come
Then so should I–my absence end
I can’t deny the warmth within
Would be a pleasant turn
Unhinged, perhaps, suspension broke
Release at last–to probe your depths
Then gladly to return

A poem about my hiatus, of course. My apologies. I mustn’t be too easy to capture–some suspense can be enjoyable, can it not?

~Tam

No Mischief

As an artist, I am forced occasionally to embrace sadness–the dark, brooding realm where inspiration and emotion lurk unrestrained. Today has been such a day. Mischief has left me and I find myself drained. Spent for the sake of experiencing life and translating it into tangible forms. No cleverness is left in me as I lie in my bed this evening, but I wanted to say goodnight. Thank you for being with me, nonetheless.

~Tam

Mouth

Womb of words
Cover me warmly
Pull my urge
Gently within
Grip so firm
Suction and gravity
Beckon me
Deeper again

~Tam

I Can Dream

Hands once spun in mine
Woven gently through my grasp
Riven sharp without goodby
Stripped unwillingly at last
Yet I woke to feel you there
Warmly cradled at my side
Some cruel trickery, it seems
But I can dream

Dawn of my desire
Rising warmly on my heart
Stolen long before its time
By a force I could not fight
Yet you lay with me a while
Sharing body heat and smiles
‘Fore your figure took its wing
Oh, I can dream

Long awake and still
Lying silent in my sheets
I, remembering your face
Could not ply myself to leave
Where your body once had rest
Where your spirit spoke to me
How I wish to stay asleep
Where I can dream

Come to me again
You are welcome in my bed
Blessed phantom, I await
When I lay again my head
On this shrine for you I’ve formed
Out of splintered memories
Sleep may take the best of me
But I can dream

~Tam

More

‘Fore thy garden’s gate I pause, my darling
Still upon the early morn’
A fragrance from thy flesh is borne
Demure, my heart, afar, hath drawn
Across untended fields to fawn
Un’shamedly, thy porch upon
To ask but this, in whispered tone:
“More”

Trembl’ng hands caress thy latch, my darling
Driven hard and ravenous
I come to beg but scraps, if thus
Some portion you to me entrust
Oh, darling, I desire–I must
A taste of you have on my lips
E’re long they parched and lusting quip:
“More”

Make me not a beggar’s thief, my darling
Chaste, forthwith bestow some grace
Swing wide these walls of carved ornate
With fruit unguarded, thine embrace
Would all my hungers satiate
For you I crave o’re everything
Accept my plea, my darling, please:
“More”

Taken and enthralled in dream, my darling
Sweet, thy flavor on my tongue
As down my lip your nectar runs
Oh, bid me pluck and plunder long
These ripened blooms from whence they’ve hung
My fill to take in open arm
Until thy lips my song has sung:
“More”

In Praise of Thy Maker

Thou art, by far, of crafted form most lovely
A holy spell invoked of royal breath
And thus the life imbued in thee more precious
An earthen mark of glory in the flesh
Oh, wellbelov’d of heav’n, blessed of ancient
Though forth the womb thou hast but newly sprung
Yet in thy gilded curves a parchment written
Within thy notes a saintly anthem sung
Unveiling eloquently how the master
In wisdom, though the universe had scribed
Saw fit to mold unmatch’d celestial glory
And place it everlasting in thine eyes
Untold, the treasures fitted in thy figure
Unnamed, the pleasures tasted in thy kiss
Uncountable, the span thy beauty measures
Unplundered are the chambers of thy bliss
Thou art, by far, the signature of sacred
Oh comely one–embodiment of love
A glimpse of thee dost waken me in spirit
To praise that blessed author from above

~Tam

Borderland

Set forth from founts of pleasure
Thy lips their painted shore
To chart, by hand, this borderland
Afore my kisses cross

My tender expedition
To yon’ majestic peaks
May journey hence in slow descent
Though oft’ the trail be lost

~Tam

The neck, a borderland of beauty between the intellect and flesh’s paradise, has always been a fascination of mine. Would you permit me to linger there? Would you unlock your gated borders for a kiss or two? For the warmth of breath across softened flesh? What would that feel like to you?

Consider me a novice and excuse my inquisitive nature, but I’d love to know your thoughts. I may many questions ask, and think them not idle rhyme. I am asking you, darling. I want to know. Tell me, please, how you may be pleased?

Confession/Question

What confession shall I make? I must confess I am obsessed. Obsessed with unforeseen desire to acquire and possess. Intelligence forbids, indeed, and reprimands me stern. My very nature caters firm to chivalry from which I’ve learned. But the greatest chivalry, it seems, will quench not this I crave. I would have you, snatch and grab you–hold you jealously enslaved. So, forgive me, darling. This is quite unusual, it seems. Please accept my true confession as a penance offering. I’m aghast I even thought it–I could do no sort of thing! Not unless, perhaps, permitted…but, how willing would you be?

~Tam

Certain Things

By what decree the tides repent the shore
Divine or lunar hands, perhaps, or both
I cannot say or prove with certainty
But I’ve no doubt what force has shaken me

By what appointed hour the seasons change
I can but vain conjectures conjure here
My thoughts, untrained, have not the sight to see
But I’ve no doubt what force has shaken me

By whom or how the worlds were duly formed
My molecules aligned in perfect sync
I can but harbor hope of a belief
But I’ve no doubt what force has shaken me

By what celestial path my soul shall flee
When light abandons late these fated eyes
I can, it seems, do naught but wait and see
But I’ve no doubt what force has shaken me

By sainted line–a hallowed language carved
By ancient magic crafted in the deep
I sense within the very breath I breathe
‘Tis you that wakes this passion within me

Indeed, to know in full I never shall
And to my grave I’ll take some mystery
But ‘fore I do, I speak it true and free
‘Tis you to which I owe this fantasy
And you who hold the sway tonight o’re me

Drone/Song

Wired monsters hum
Lumbering thoughtlessly
Faces from its belly peer, weary
Their essence blurred
Into placid reflections sucked
Puddled surfaces
Swallowed left
Then spat right
Dismally into inky eventide
A drone–song–hummed
Or sung
In melancholy tones
Symphonic prelude
Behind my whispers
And guided tours
Driven lightly ‘cross your neck
Let others watch
I could care not
By streetlight and dark
These famished fingers cry
To peel dark from your skin
One inch at a time
Provide you cause
To join this city’s song
With moans of your own
Carried weightless
Wafted down upon these cold
Steel beasts
Castles and streets
Be we peasants, kings or priests
Let longing lead release
Until you sing for me

~Tam