Pure fantasy can be a wonderful focus for love. It could happen.
Why can't this be difficult
Why can't this hurt like Hell
Why does this all feel easy
And what is this magic spell
My God I've known you always
Well it seems that way to me
You fit like you're my shadow
In a spirit meant to be
Your hands are an easy comfort
Your smile is even more
Your voice gives me shivers
My feet won't touch the floor
I love you nice n' easy
Pure sugar raw-uncured
As natural as the air I breath
Dedicated and matured
I feel you in me always
You're a cushion of delight
Thoughts of you light my days
Then passion up my nights
I've written of pure passion
I know just how it feels
To color every nerve I have
Erupt at night ... then spill
Over into the dreams I dream
The ones that bring you here
The ones of yearning filled at last
Erasing all the years
Did you know that I'm your garden
Just waiting for your care
In wholesome love with freedom's will
With not a pain to share
I love you nice n' easy
Few ever get this chance
To love unselfish love like this
Then rise on up to dance
With me in rolling thunder
With lightening all around
To love with Gods rejoicing
As the Universe resounds
Harmonious love-making
The kind without a name
A dance of synchronization
Lighting an eternal flame
I love you nice n' easy
The sort that's hard to find
Love that is this special
Never looks behind!
Where is this blind and unfeeling lover man?
And, with words and responses described,
why does he look elsewhere, or tarry a'tall?
This is a delightful inquiry. Enjoyed ! ! !
-Bill
Reviewed by Jerry Bolton (Reader)
Reviewed on July 3, 2006
Whew. I am plumb tuckered out, m'lady. This one gives strength to the notion that taking it nice and slow and easy as you feed the literary truth to the fantasy, until your words take on a voice of their own, climbing and reaching and grasping for the elusive, but very attainable, ultimate orgasmic delight . . . Tending your garden, indeed.
Funny how we can see love, have it right in front of us, and yet refuse to look it in the eye. Even years of it when you know it's all there...hands, voice, that feeling of walking on air. Life is a dance...passion is a gift....grab it while you can and never, never ever look back.
Love, Taylor
Reviewed by Martin Hebert (Reader)
Reviewed on July 2, 2006
~~Susan~~love this line "You're a cushion of delight"..such is this poem..wonderful~~
This poem is possible via the written word for strong communication of human intimacy. A spoken word version of Pure Fantasy of Love to people of an oral culture who need strong memories, would stay with them when they went on a long trip of some sort, hunting or fishing. We talk to each other, listen, visit, and trust the written and spoken word. Nice work, Susan.
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Ron
Love Tinka
And, with words and responses described,
why does he look elsewhere, or tarry a'tall?
This is a delightful inquiry. Enjoyed ! ! !
-Bill
RAge
Love, Taylor
~~martin~~
Sage