If I can find the words to give the justice her image deserves

A picture of the woman for whom I have be reserved, with just a tiny glint of her vivacious curves. I'm feeling lightning flashing through me, inspiring these words.

Her image forces me to experience an erotic ebullition. My twin flame, my prophetess of metaphysical scintillation.

The sight of her is aphrodisiacal, her radiant spark ever so paradisiacal, she kindles my soul into a coruscation, combustion then glowing candescence. All from a picture, merely The idea of her presense.

Indeed the sight invokes thoughts of you with me physically, your Noble feminine form and you're opulent essence I can see so vividly, I adore your amenable skin, your life force so full of energy. Imagining the smell and feel of your lush sumptuous hair, the taste of your delectable lips, and the sensual paroxysm I would feel from your delicate kiss that I could only compare to Nirvana, or heavenly bliss.

Ten thousand words could not describe the connection I feel for you inside, from a mere picture, It must be heavenly devine.

nor can words even when put into rhyme, portray the white hot fire that will be created when our twin souls intertwine.

My body close to the thine manifesting the impenetrable fortress of our loves eternal bind, safe in our palatial shrine.

Even if all I can get is a picture of her, I thank God and the universe divine, for allowing me this cherished depiction of her, my soul's definition of perfection and Grace.

A vision of true love, the personification of Hope and Faith

Proof my soul's twin flame

How Blessed I am to exist in this your same
time and space.
And that I was Worthy enough to look upon your beautiful face.

I now have a picture I can hold in my mind, and I can at least see you, and know that perhaps one day,

I might call you mine.


By
David Michael Goad II

beautiful

The flower of life is blooming, the bee of bounty
Over head zooming.

He lands his polin in hand, he inserts it beneath the petals ever so gently as he tickles avoiding the prickles.

Coaxing a reaction, invoked by their natural and eternal atraction.

A seed is born, then shacken loose by the storm.

It falls to the mud created by the great rains and the flood.

Now deep in the soil a stem with a leaf begin to unfurl

Nurtured by mother Earth, heaven erupts into mirth.

Now it begins again it's dance towards the sky
It spins drinking in the radiant sunshine.

Absorbing the rains of the divine


Untill a new flower is born protected by pointy thorn.

Awaiting the bee, anticipating the coming storm. it sways patiently benieth the shadows of the grandmother tree

Snuggled in warm embrace and knowing it's place in the cosmic spirders web of time and space.

By David Michael Goad II

A full moons illumination breaks darkness's hold on the night, creating perfect conditions for mystics to conduct thier practices safely away from the suns plight.

Under it's fervid gleam passionate lovers quiver and scream as they work ardently to create a heavenly sensual scene where both can achieve climactic salvation, together brimming with euphoric elation

Those with knowledge of it's true power are aware that without it's mighty gravitational
pull the face of the earth would be lifeless, dismal, and bare.

It's draw contoles all ebb and flow from the vast blue oceans against the shores as they rise above and fall bellow.

To the miniscule movement of tiny tidal pools, and the planetary migration of insects, birds, and fish that travel in massive schools.

A females menstrual cycle is even effected designating the time of an eggs fertility in which the spark of life can be injected.

Luminous and lucent, stirring emotions of love and sadness. Conjuring the minds wildest creations of monster's and madness. The duality of man's consciousness most often concealed can now be seen in the full moons light completely revealed.


By David Michael Goad II

The man I am In this physical body longs for her approval

On my flesh colorful tattoos I do adorn in hopes that I will stand out to her apart from the norm, posturing confidentiality a visual display of prowess, purpose, and poise. This principal I practice that she might see me as attractive.

This body of muscle, blood and a beating heart that desires her warmth and Love. Yearns to be adored in her mind, seen as handsome, sexy, and one of a kind.

She confims my worth with my image reflecting mirrored in her eyes as she pulls me in close embracing me in her arms, accepting me within her thighs.

Her words of praise are the key to the darkness and torment of my minds rusty cage. Knowing in my heart and mind that I'm sheltered in the unassailable fortress of our true loves bind.


Passion and kindness delivered from her lips.
Her hips rythmic motion an awe inspiring presentation of her love and devotion. She finds her center, full and focused, as I push myself deep inside her, a euphoric explosion, erupting in waves of fluid emotion


The demon of darkness called depression falls over me. So she holds my hand, reminding me who I am. A beacon shining bright, she pulls me acending upward defeating my minds self destructive treason. She and her love give my life reason.

To be acceptable in her sight and to hear those words uttered softly in the twilight, I love you David, is my soul's delight. To be worthy of being in her presence, and told that I'm missed in my absence are both notions containing the pure essence of pleasance.


By David Michael Goad II

The luster of past lovers once held never faded from my mind, a spark inside of a memory of them gone, but to this day they shine

Ever encroaching death the unfathomable relentlessness of the passage of time.

Thoughts of Lost Love, remnants, and images of passion once mine, reminds me of the sands of The hourglass how they continue to fall youthfulness left behind

So vivid are these vestiges, they feel sinful almost a crime, my hips between her thighs her lips pressed firmly against mine.

Tender kisses face to face, within inches long deep stares, eye to eye, it's almost as if we're still there,

I can't help but think of Porphyria brutally strangled with her own silky yellow hair, lifeless eyes still holding beauty in their glare.

Phantoms long gone, ghostly fragments of lost lovers laid bare. Some would call me lucky to have loved and lost so many, knowing someone so deeply that they, and I, opened our souls to share.

Yet how they haunt me, holding still a piece of my heart. These lost loves from whom I did part, rippling residually, perpetually causing mixed emotion of joy and dispaire.

Connections severed and beyond repair, lessons learned from our loves affair. Heart aches not wasted. Time not spent in vain, gaining wisdom and patience. cherished were the experiences we shared, and though they may be gone for each love lost,

I do still care.

By David Michael Goad II

Love is a pure white canvas
Painted delicate pink with innocence, and youthful candidness.

Speckled with the midnight blue of the melancholy loneliness, found in the sadness of separation all lovers must atone with.

With deep, thick stroks of passionate red a radiantly representative shade of the physical connection made, a soul contract paid

The luminous shine, of a golden yellow glow surrounding the scene. A Sublime sentiment of loves all incompassing power to redeem.

The pitch black drips a display of the emptiness and uter madness derived from thoughts of loves permanent absence.

The enchanting presence of Royal purple and all of its regality symbolic of the magnificence of an existence held in the Majestic Elegance of true loves bliss. Depicting the silhouettes of lovers embrace as they seal each others fate's with passion and promise bound by a kiss.


By
David Michael Goad II