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The Tender Kiss
She’s before me with impeccable smile
Her red lips softer than gossamer wings
Since touching their softness has been awhile
Just the sight of them pull at my heartstrings
With every inch moving closer to her
My heart pounds as if it’s a timpani
Each and every drop of blood starts to stir
Reaching intensity of a coulee
We are so close can feel the other’s heat
Our eyes now closing, creating darkness
Preparing for two pairs of lips to meet
An expression of love which is ceaseless
Weightlessness of touch our joined lips linger
We yield, I wish moment could be longer
Windflowers, John William Waterhouse (1902)
Thou garner my flowers then dash away,
Thy beauty is much greater than their sum.
Alluring garden would be if thou stay,
Just remain ‘til thee be final blossom.
Sent the wind to touch your ivory skin.
Purer than that of newborn mother’s milk,
Protecting thy beauty which burns within.
Come stay awhile so I may touch thy silk.
Do sense a hesitation in thy pace,
Thy action causes heartbeat to increase.
Turn so I may see thy beautiful face,
This feeling of love for thee shall not cease.
Let me braid my flowers into thy hair,
And I shall give my heart to thee to wear.
Woman with Taper, Jules Breton (1873)
Candle’s glow let forever to be your guide
Making sure its bright flame never to quit
The wind’s access must always be denied
Wind is evil, tempting you to submit
Might your candle’s glow suddenly disappear
Do not place it in a darkened drawer
For your future will then become nadir
Must make an effort its flame to restore
Surround yourself with those whom you think dear
Be not afraid to share what is you fear
If true to yourself future will be clear
The glow of the flame you now will restore
Light of the candle to you be sacred
Then drink of His wine and eat of His bread
Nana, Edouard Manet (1877)
Book by Emile Zola
You have the power to control the sun
There’s not a man who your beauty would shun
A magnetic allure second to none
The world’s most desirable courtesan
Not very long ago you walked the street
Elevated to stage door men you’d greet
Now many men lay prostrate at your feet
Creating dreams for fools by your deceit
Do wonder what it is you have inside
Some darkened secret of the past you hide
Never thinking to be a loving bride
Surely absent is a life filled with pride
Easily shared your body not amour
You do know you are but a high priced whore
Autumn, Emilio Sánchez Perrier (c. 1900)
Autumn by the River
Song birds of the trees have made their retreat
Cool winds of autumn chased summer away
Colors of the quiet land now blasé
Busy fields in summer are not deplete
Paces of the past are now slowing down
Giving moments of pure quiet pleasure
Thinking of the silos filled with treasure
Waiting arrival winter’s bridal gown
Cataloging thoughts at the river’s edge
Reminiscing the joys that came my way
In mind the desire to ensure they stay
Seeking more in the future is my pledge
Studying the river as it goes by
It is my life passing by that I see
Message is always busy I must be
Like plants I will eventually die
The Raging Rapids, Peder Mork Mønsted (n.d.)
Ranging river flooded into my heart,
Suffocating, surely I will be drowned.
Its power so great to tear me apart,
Can this really be love that I found?
Kidnapped by aches and pains and nervous twitch,
Twisting and turning, can’t sleep in my bed.
Desire new feeling for which I may switch,
To rid me of this swirling in my head.
How I hunger but unable to eat,
Stomach tighter than a Gordian knot.
Shivering yet sweating from intense heat,
Visits to countless doctors are for naught.
If this be love, I know not what to do,
Should this be my reward for loving you?
Snow Scene through a Winter Window, Henry Alexander (1870)
Under blankets, another frigid night
Could feel aching chill in my weary bones
Feared what horror there would be my first sight
Feeling confident would be many moans
Looking through button holes, saw the bright white
Tired of the piling up of winter’s snow
This freezing matter is no longer trite
Miserable stuff really must go
A death row prisoner is what I am
Give me my last meal and be done with it
Never have been fan of winter’s program
Ever bored of doing nothing but sit
For the joy of spring I hunger and thirst
Can I survive, it’s but November first