Poems by Rose

To the One for Me

To the one for me:
Whoever you may be,
I hope to meet you soon,
Our moment opportune,
For my heart's ready now,
As my mind, too-- I avow.

If met we have in the past,
Then you'll see the contrast:
Immaturity I did erase,
As womanhood I embrace,
Test my claim, I dare you,
For my love will prove true.

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Five Senses of Love

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The taste of his dimpled smile
Lingers on my lips,
Like sweet ambrosia;
Against my throat,
It dances graceful swirls,
Arousing dormant senses--
Pure ecstasy!

Behind angelic smiles,
Rests voice so melodic-.
Rich, rustic Romano;
Tumultuous nights no more
When his lullaby begins,
For he's one and only
Il mio cantante.

His Herculean arm
Ensnares my thighs,
Allowing me to experience
His Mediterranean skin,
Like delicate rose petals
Gently kissed by morning star
Of his motherland.

His other marble arm
Cradles my head
As I gaze at his eyes,
Like golden snowflakes
Shimmering inside emerald gems;
So communicative,
No words necessary.

I close my own
Knowing I'm not alone,
For his potent, intoxicating scent
Will always remain,
Like spicy, sensual cinnamon
Mixed with muted musk,

He will never fade.

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Confession of Guilt

Mr. Police Man, please arrest me
I'm walking on the streets
High
In slow motion, everyone
Hyped multi-color, everything

Officer, Sir, slap the cuffs on
My mind's been buzzing
Intoxicated
Birds are singing just for me
As smiles are all I see

Doctor, don't bother treating
I'll go back to my fix
Soon
Addicted I am as it is
To his kiss that did this.

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Galatea

Galatea indeed is he
Vision of her thoughts, see
Never knew it is possible
For mere thought's improbable

Azure eyes, she dreams
Deep as ocean blue that beams
Calms the soul in need
Banishes others, take heed

Amalgam of the finest is he
Her preference's epitome
Western world combined
With natives maligned

Physical beauty disappears
When one reaches midyears
Depend not on wealth, too
"To thine own self be true"

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The Wave

You came to me like a wave
Washing my worries away
Slowly wandered an ocean wide
And lapped the boulders Bay
On my skin refreshing spray

You dribbled down onto the soft sand
Offering jewels from sapphire sea
That adorned the ground where I stand
And hummed a soft lullaby on key
Beneath the wide open sky so free

You delicately caressed my warm being
Guiding me gently to your powerful core
Entranced and enveloped I followed unseeing
That triumphantly led me straight offshore
I forcefully swam with immense vigor

Deep in your depth I felt you pulsating
With life that transcends space and time
Love in all dimensions communicating
Your complexity and majesty so sublime
Polluting you would be a serious crime

With one assertive push you exhaled
Sending me tumbling back to dry land
Rubbed my raw eyes and then inhaled
As you evaporated out of my hand
In your place glistening rocks on a band

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Control

Control I must from suggestion
My dignity I should still treasure
Yet my limit remains in question
When 'yes' is no doubt pleasure
Beyond any means of measure

Too soon I harp once more
For weeks of two we met
Wait you must I do implore
No reason for your upset
With me you won't regret

Challenge this is directly to you
For simple act is easy to obtain
Purpose must be proven true
And not just simply mundane
This I must say in pure pain

If patience you can't master
Then my apology I now give
But this can't be any faster
For failure I refuse to relive
My suitors I carefully sieve

Door is open that you know
Need not your presence here
Though I like I must be slow
These words me so sincere
Hope I do that it comes clear

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Loss of Innocence

Trouble in paradise brought her
Crashing down without notice
To a cell made of gilded skin
Trapping her for years to come

Innocent she was to life below
Where on an island she waited
For her satyr's music to begin
Beckoning her to come at last

Sweet melody finally played
That locked her in a trance
No vision was necessary
For her hymn-guided heart

As she came near the sound
Others of her kind she felt
In a trance they were as well
Their hymn-guided hearts

Dismayed she became
From her painful realization
That her satyr was not hers
And she was caught by the lure

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Agony

Oh, the agony trapped in me!
When instinct succumbs to morality,
Which restricts the heart from basking
In sheer ecstasy of possibilities.
An end to this must occur immediately,
But, alas! I question common methodology
When what I treasure is at risk,
Versus the gamble that is.

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I Pine for a Man

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I pine for a man who's no longer mine

I pine for a man as I wait for a sign

A sign that he will return for another day

A sign that he will continue our yesterday

Yesterday when each second's cherished

Yesterday when pure affection's nourished

Nourished like a guilty soul's forgiveness

Nourished like a wandering specter's finished business

I pine for a man. For a man, I pine-

Alas, was he ever mine?

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Empty Can

Like empty can my heart echoes,
From lack of tangible emotions,
Nothing left
Just sweet, fading memories
That cling to slippery surface.
On the edge rusting pain,
Ready to slice at first chance,
Forcing one to feel woes, tools for education.
Around the hollow jacket of experiences,
Portraying tattered, triumphs in fading print.
With salty tears the binding faith loosens,
Melting the meticulous façade.
Underneath, a sticky surface,
Devoid of emotions
That mimics the one inside.

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Lonely Heart

The lonely heart beats
Despite her love lost
In its place determination
But never-ending devotion
To move past in time
Only goal
The lonely heart beats
No matter what

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Slumber

Slumber, my eternal solace,
From pains of life, I run to you;
Cover my eyes with limitless possibility
And shroud me in your cloak of authority.

With your presence so powerful,
I beg you to numb my tortured heart
And summon images of heightened euphoria
From past experiences I cherish dearly.

As you warn me of dangers to come,
Avenge my unjust treatment
With deeply rooted torments in minds
Of those who dared to wrong me.

When the Angel finally makes his presence known,
Aid him please with your gentle hands,
So that he can make a painless delivery
Of my battered heart quickly.

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Time Heals

Time heals, that's what they say
Though I want to agree, it's hard to do;
My mangled heart heaves still
From the pain you inflicted to your "most dear".

But don't worry, I can reciprocate
What you gave to me, I will return:
Mental destruction- emotional, too,
Just so we're equal and nothing more to pursue.

Time heals, that's what they say
Now, I know it is true
My mangled heart beats again
With promising possibilities from men so near.

Anger, I no longer have,
Just the deep understanding
That comes when time heals
All wounds-- even from her most dear.

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The Proper Fit

 

Boyfriends are like bras—

they come in every cut and class:

some built for comfort, some for show,

some barely there, some overflow.

 

Some come in satin, silk, and lace,

some simple, sturdy, built for pace;

some black as midnight, red as sin,

some sheer enough to show the skin.

 

Some cost a fortune—and they should

when stitching, shape, and straps are good;

you pay for structure, strength, and stay,

for something made to last all day.

 

Some come quite cheap and still succeed,

no fancy name, but what you need;

no polished package, pomp, or fame—

they hold you up just all the same.

 

Some are transparent, plain to see,

no hidden hooks, no mystery;

some padded proudly, puffed with air,

promising more than may be there.

 

Some fit so softly, snug and right,

their arms around you, warm and tight;

they lift you gently when you’re low

and guard the tender parts you show.

 

The proper one will leave a trace—

a little line, a lasting place;

not every mark is meant to bruise:

some simply say, I held you close.

 

But when the wire starts to sting,

when every clasp becomes a thing,

when something sharp keeps breaking through

and stabbing where it shouldn’t do—

 

don’t twist the strap, don’t make excuses,

don’t call discomfort “normal uses.”

If every wearing ends in pain,

you do not owe that bra again.

 

Unhook it. Toss it. Clear the drawer.

You’ve worn enough of that before.

There’s always one with softer seams,

more room for ribs—and room for dreams.

 

Some women need one every day,

a little lift along the way;

some women let the whole thing swing

and never miss a single thing.

 

Some like them lacy, loud, and bright,

some plain and practical and white;

some want one close, some want one rare,

and some are happiest going bare.

 

Because no woman, dressed or free,

needs straps disguised as custody.

A boyfriend, like a bra, should prove

that holding up is part of love.

 

So choose your color, cut, and size;

ignore the ads, the brands, the lies.

The best fit isn’t what looks grand—

it’s what can lift and understand.

 

And if he pinches, pokes, or scars,

while claiming that’s just how men are,

then thank him for the lesson—ha!—

and throw him out

 

like one bad bra.