Dear WWWW,
All women have their beauty; their special charms, but some fail to see them or think their greatest asset is just a trinket. But you, my lady, have a quiet simmering of emotion and a protected heart of great compassion and feeling. You have cloaked your special charms and you have hidden your gracious beauty beneath sad eyes and long legs.
Would that those eyes shine forth more often, as they do from time to time, when you talk of your achievements and the challenges you have overcome, of your hope for a family and a better world from which you could stretch your spirit to encompass little people and a richer world.
The quiet smile hides the veiled intelligence in your eyes and I wonder why you would want to hide so much. It makes me feel like protecting you in whatever means I could to let you flower and smile, shine with that inner light. I would hope that whoever you find to mingle souls will endeavour to make this a priority as I see this as your greatest wealth of character.
Though you may think that makeup and fashion bring out the woman, I saw the real woman who does not need to hide behind such trivial and surface features, but feels content to smell and sweat as all humans do. I failed to notice the humidity of the land we were in, but felt the heat in the grazing touches that were stolen accidentally, knowing that nothing more could be done or said. This makes me ache, but we both understand our paths are different for each of our 40th years.
Although I may never meet you again, I hope you take something of me with you to face this world, perhaps some part of how I see you - a vibrant and dynamic woman with the world at her feet, long legs and spirited body, flashing eyes and open smile beneath straw blonde hair. Would that the sun always light your path so this hair will always shine and your cheeks stay rosey, but not so much that the sunscreen will dampen your enthusiasm or raise sweat on your brow.
I wish you all the very best in your travels, and hope that should circumstances change, we might meet again and explore the possibilities that we tasted however briefly, even without a kiss. The shared comfort we found in each other could form a strong bond, but sits as a potential - a testament to what could have been, such that you might see better how others could see you and treat with you and love you with all their heart.
You deserve nothing less. I welcome our meeting and will remember you always.
With heartfelt wonder, I wish you all the best, YYYY.
Friday, 1 February 2013
Sunday, 17 June 2012
I woke early this morning...
Dear Lady XXXX,
I woke early this morning, knowing that a courier had delivered me your words, but the warmth of those words held me under quilt for dawn to come. Now I have read and re-read your fine words wrought from your delicate hands yet sung through such a strong and harmonious heart. Needless to say, I have already saddled my steed for the journey to see you today and my heart is beating quicker; she stand ready to bare me across the distance to your embrace unaware of the urgency I feel to see you once again.
Steal me away to the quiet of your room for I could not interrupt the glorious lady that is, and even should those thoughts rest with mine, since mine would be only in idolisation of the lady before me, you would not be interrupted. But that your guests could dine in your divinity, while I must watch the glow from afar. At first I thought it was the Moon rising, but that the Moon already in the serenity of darkness would be jealous I found the glow on the horizon could only come from your radiance.
You speak of desire and you must know that I feel it also, tugging gently at me and at times not so gently. The desire for exploration both within and without is shared; that the goodness of the entire would could be in a teacup shared with you. Pen and paper and photons and electrons are inadequate to describe my own feelings, so I feel empathy and sympathy with you. But that the universe is not suitable to adequately describe my feelings for you no matter how many pens and paper, electrons and photons it should contain, for it is not the amount that I would use to describe; it is most definitely the content - the qualia. These feelings that you seem to share.
And creations of still more universes could only be for the purpose of sharing them with you. That we should end the struggle to contain ourselves...
When I talk of your warm breath and sparkling eyes I do not do so in any way to lessen the effect the rest of your person and character has upon me. And you speak of my kiss when my kiss could not be generated in isolation of another set of lips to press against, gently touching, exploring, arousing. Would that I have my hand on your waist, it would still not be close enough, but I would be overjoyed to be in this presence.
Blushing, I continued through your letter and description of my skin against yours and my lips against your neck until they again met your own. Please know that I yearn for your neck to place my lips against and that your lips would yield to me on meeting is a sensory experience not easily described. That there may be more moments like these also draw my attention when you are not near, indeed, even when you are.
Yet, my concern here rests with two sets of anticipation-charged lips that on drawing together feels that same rush of charged particles, something more than our individual selves. Closer, and closer until the static arcs from lip to lip; a shared tingle; an anticipation by skin conductance of the very thing it has been craving to conduct - the feeling of our lips touching. But I ask you, how could such things be indulgent if both parties are willing to indulge? Could it not better be described as inevitable, given the chemistry lesson we have before us?
Before I move on, also know that you have made me aware once again of anticipation in many things.
Although I am not happy that I cause you distraction, there is a part of my ego that is glad that my person and character can distract at least as much as yours has distracted me. Languid, I have lingered with your voice, remembered your caress, visualised your eyes and swooned at your self in my own world while engaged with the wider one.
I have already described my first and last thoughts are of you, but perhaps I was not clear that these are also the beginning and the end as there is no halt in thinking of you throughout the day. I admit, sometimes I am able to compartmentalise and provide more focus to a task or person, but the leap is like moving from telegraph to stone tablets, or 3D television to black and white silent projectors; the colour, the depth, the context are all missing.
That you would suggest such a remedy is pleasing and the remedy itself is attractive, as I have also considered such a remedy. That I could reach out and touch you whenever I desired and allow you to do likewise; that the darkness could be shared with a pair of beating hearts is almost overwhelming. We have spoken of quiver... are you sure this has nothing to do with any other arrow reference?
Magic is a good word. Magic can be nurtured and sustained; it can be grown. It can also be shared to create. I am of the opinion, and humbly, please correct me if I am wrong, that magic cannot be created in isolation, except perhaps for those wizened mountain monk-types (of which I have not been one in some time and do not intend to return just yet).
How could I not accept such a challenge, when the prize was shining before me? And please be aware, as you are a modern woman, that I use these terms not to describe ownership or trade value, but to describe the feelings around a prize; the excitement, the relief, the adrenalin, the surprise and right-ness in varying quantities. Further, as a modern man, I could not ignore that this feeling of challenge and prize should be shared with you - again, not in terms of ownership, but in terms of accidentally tripping over a completely unknown universe for us to explore together! What a shining prize!
I am sure there are many things that we can help each other to know about both in terms of ourselves and each other and about the universe (or universes) we come across. I would be a man to match the glorious woman you are; to inspire and be inspired; to fascinate and be fascinated; to feel like ourselves and yet making up something larger than ourselves.
That we could explore this until the sun exploded, providing the climax to the fireworks building in my chest; this time would still not be enough.
I look forward to holding you and kissing you before moonlight next touches my skin.
In humility, YYYY.
I woke early this morning, knowing that a courier had delivered me your words, but the warmth of those words held me under quilt for dawn to come. Now I have read and re-read your fine words wrought from your delicate hands yet sung through such a strong and harmonious heart. Needless to say, I have already saddled my steed for the journey to see you today and my heart is beating quicker; she stand ready to bare me across the distance to your embrace unaware of the urgency I feel to see you once again.
Steal me away to the quiet of your room for I could not interrupt the glorious lady that is, and even should those thoughts rest with mine, since mine would be only in idolisation of the lady before me, you would not be interrupted. But that your guests could dine in your divinity, while I must watch the glow from afar. At first I thought it was the Moon rising, but that the Moon already in the serenity of darkness would be jealous I found the glow on the horizon could only come from your radiance.
You speak of desire and you must know that I feel it also, tugging gently at me and at times not so gently. The desire for exploration both within and without is shared; that the goodness of the entire would could be in a teacup shared with you. Pen and paper and photons and electrons are inadequate to describe my own feelings, so I feel empathy and sympathy with you. But that the universe is not suitable to adequately describe my feelings for you no matter how many pens and paper, electrons and photons it should contain, for it is not the amount that I would use to describe; it is most definitely the content - the qualia. These feelings that you seem to share.
And creations of still more universes could only be for the purpose of sharing them with you. That we should end the struggle to contain ourselves...
When I talk of your warm breath and sparkling eyes I do not do so in any way to lessen the effect the rest of your person and character has upon me. And you speak of my kiss when my kiss could not be generated in isolation of another set of lips to press against, gently touching, exploring, arousing. Would that I have my hand on your waist, it would still not be close enough, but I would be overjoyed to be in this presence.
Blushing, I continued through your letter and description of my skin against yours and my lips against your neck until they again met your own. Please know that I yearn for your neck to place my lips against and that your lips would yield to me on meeting is a sensory experience not easily described. That there may be more moments like these also draw my attention when you are not near, indeed, even when you are.
Yet, my concern here rests with two sets of anticipation-charged lips that on drawing together feels that same rush of charged particles, something more than our individual selves. Closer, and closer until the static arcs from lip to lip; a shared tingle; an anticipation by skin conductance of the very thing it has been craving to conduct - the feeling of our lips touching. But I ask you, how could such things be indulgent if both parties are willing to indulge? Could it not better be described as inevitable, given the chemistry lesson we have before us?
Before I move on, also know that you have made me aware once again of anticipation in many things.
Although I am not happy that I cause you distraction, there is a part of my ego that is glad that my person and character can distract at least as much as yours has distracted me. Languid, I have lingered with your voice, remembered your caress, visualised your eyes and swooned at your self in my own world while engaged with the wider one.
I have already described my first and last thoughts are of you, but perhaps I was not clear that these are also the beginning and the end as there is no halt in thinking of you throughout the day. I admit, sometimes I am able to compartmentalise and provide more focus to a task or person, but the leap is like moving from telegraph to stone tablets, or 3D television to black and white silent projectors; the colour, the depth, the context are all missing.
That you would suggest such a remedy is pleasing and the remedy itself is attractive, as I have also considered such a remedy. That I could reach out and touch you whenever I desired and allow you to do likewise; that the darkness could be shared with a pair of beating hearts is almost overwhelming. We have spoken of quiver... are you sure this has nothing to do with any other arrow reference?
Magic is a good word. Magic can be nurtured and sustained; it can be grown. It can also be shared to create. I am of the opinion, and humbly, please correct me if I am wrong, that magic cannot be created in isolation, except perhaps for those wizened mountain monk-types (of which I have not been one in some time and do not intend to return just yet).
How could I not accept such a challenge, when the prize was shining before me? And please be aware, as you are a modern woman, that I use these terms not to describe ownership or trade value, but to describe the feelings around a prize; the excitement, the relief, the adrenalin, the surprise and right-ness in varying quantities. Further, as a modern man, I could not ignore that this feeling of challenge and prize should be shared with you - again, not in terms of ownership, but in terms of accidentally tripping over a completely unknown universe for us to explore together! What a shining prize!
I am sure there are many things that we can help each other to know about both in terms of ourselves and each other and about the universe (or universes) we come across. I would be a man to match the glorious woman you are; to inspire and be inspired; to fascinate and be fascinated; to feel like ourselves and yet making up something larger than ourselves.
That we could explore this until the sun exploded, providing the climax to the fireworks building in my chest; this time would still not be enough.
I look forward to holding you and kissing you before moonlight next touches my skin.
In humility, YYYY.
Wednesday, 30 May 2012
Having just returned...
Beautiful Lady,
Having just returned from a long trek to and from Ashgrove to meet with one of my good friends, the famous artist Barek, I find that my thoughts again turn to you. Should I not tell you? Know that you have been the last thing I think of as Sandman takes me and the first thing I think on hearing the dawn and consciously drawing morning breath.
With each subsequent breath, I wonder at your own breath... should that the world have no wind nor friction, would I feel that breath on my cheek across the gulf that currently stands between us? I think sometimes I can feel it, as I feel the wash from the sparkle in your eyes even outside sight, and yet I rue that gulf. That I could reach out and touch you would not lessen the thoughts of your breath against my cheek; it would merely add more to the experience.
Here I use the term 'mere' in the same inappropriate usage as a castle being a mere house, or a falcon being a mere bird, or perhaps that my fluttering heart for you is mere limerance. Fear not! Limerance is sweet and exciting with you and your character; the warmth in my chest is not an illusion and has not faded; your voice I yearn to hear and your lips I long to kiss. But that this could lead to something that is greater still is incredible to perceive. Could it?
Such a shock it was to find that I had to forcibly wrench my mind from thinking of you to ensure the qualities of my attentions were not in jeopardy. Even with this intent, it is clear the subject matter is pale and lifeless in comparison. That I could relinquish the curves of a graph to carefully study your curves and lines; cease pursuing client requirements and pursue yours in terms of companionship, affection and attention, diligently and with purpose; stop encouraging witless people to submit required forms and instead encourage you to shine such that I may adore more of this shine myself, selfishly.
But perhaps I digress too far and I have other matters of state to urgently attend.
Know that you are in my thoughts, always,
YYYY
Having just returned from a long trek to and from Ashgrove to meet with one of my good friends, the famous artist Barek, I find that my thoughts again turn to you. Should I not tell you? Know that you have been the last thing I think of as Sandman takes me and the first thing I think on hearing the dawn and consciously drawing morning breath.
With each subsequent breath, I wonder at your own breath... should that the world have no wind nor friction, would I feel that breath on my cheek across the gulf that currently stands between us? I think sometimes I can feel it, as I feel the wash from the sparkle in your eyes even outside sight, and yet I rue that gulf. That I could reach out and touch you would not lessen the thoughts of your breath against my cheek; it would merely add more to the experience.
Here I use the term 'mere' in the same inappropriate usage as a castle being a mere house, or a falcon being a mere bird, or perhaps that my fluttering heart for you is mere limerance. Fear not! Limerance is sweet and exciting with you and your character; the warmth in my chest is not an illusion and has not faded; your voice I yearn to hear and your lips I long to kiss. But that this could lead to something that is greater still is incredible to perceive. Could it?
Such a shock it was to find that I had to forcibly wrench my mind from thinking of you to ensure the qualities of my attentions were not in jeopardy. Even with this intent, it is clear the subject matter is pale and lifeless in comparison. That I could relinquish the curves of a graph to carefully study your curves and lines; cease pursuing client requirements and pursue yours in terms of companionship, affection and attention, diligently and with purpose; stop encouraging witless people to submit required forms and instead encourage you to shine such that I may adore more of this shine myself, selfishly.
But perhaps I digress too far and I have other matters of state to urgently attend.
Know that you are in my thoughts, always,
YYYY
Monday, 21 May 2012
Hearing your voice - the light behind your eyes...
Dearest Lady XXXX,
Hearing your voice - the light behind your eyes, and those soft sweet lips whispering into my ears; it has left me quite breathless. Forgive me for thinking that perhaps in your absence the spell that you have over me would wear a little; perhaps providing some solitude that I may remember what it was before I met such womanly radiance.
Not that I desire this solitude of thought. Believe me, my desire is not to be wasted on such a concept when I have you to behold; the memory of your lips on mine and the warmth of your body against mine. I would have you infuse my thoughts, spirit, and body with your own. When I hold you tight, it is never tight enough and I hope it will never be tight enough. I wish to always want to be closer to you, to share.
But in understanding that you have a long and perilous journey ahead of you, I bid you adieu and hope that thoughts of me sprinkle spice to your day rather than overpower the main course.
And know that my lips will always be waiting - yearning and aching - to touch yours.
Faithfully, YYYY
Hearing your voice - the light behind your eyes, and those soft sweet lips whispering into my ears; it has left me quite breathless. Forgive me for thinking that perhaps in your absence the spell that you have over me would wear a little; perhaps providing some solitude that I may remember what it was before I met such womanly radiance.
Not that I desire this solitude of thought. Believe me, my desire is not to be wasted on such a concept when I have you to behold; the memory of your lips on mine and the warmth of your body against mine. I would have you infuse my thoughts, spirit, and body with your own. When I hold you tight, it is never tight enough and I hope it will never be tight enough. I wish to always want to be closer to you, to share.
But in understanding that you have a long and perilous journey ahead of you, I bid you adieu and hope that thoughts of me sprinkle spice to your day rather than overpower the main course.
And know that my lips will always be waiting - yearning and aching - to touch yours.
Faithfully, YYYY
Wednesday, 16 May 2012
I am writing to request permission...
Dear XXXX,
I am writing to request permission to express some of the feelings I have had recently, but am somewhat hesitant as the fear of the statement that poetry is not appreciated does lend a hint of a challenge. There is a warrior spirit at my heart, which is not the same as a thug or bully, that would address this challenge, perhaps, through the arts of courtly love.
Seasons have caressed the globe since I last put my hand to such a task, but I am willing to make the attempt to rekindle an historical art and old skill. The heart that speaks through my hands onto this page does not follow 13th Century rules of such 'courtly love' as I cannot be interested in keeping my feelings secret, nor does my belief include that the chivalric expression of affection be limited to those who are unable to execute upon said affection.
The perfect traditional courtly love is forever and irrevocably unrequited, only to share, at most, furtive glances across a dinner table or tournament field. My words and feelings do not come as this tradition, but from this tradition and expressed through a chivalric construct that is mine and mine alone.
I would express these words and the concepts they represent to you with the desire to know you better and a want, a yearning, to be closer to you. For me, there is no reason to hold anything back; no reason to withhold affection or to be content with those furtive glances.
How could I ever be satisfied?
So, as the sun rises on another day of knowing you better, I would ask your permission, from time to time, to send you this form of verse as a romantic gesture and to share my feelings with you.
Do you give permission, or shall I desist?
Yours, YYYY.
I am writing to request permission to express some of the feelings I have had recently, but am somewhat hesitant as the fear of the statement that poetry is not appreciated does lend a hint of a challenge. There is a warrior spirit at my heart, which is not the same as a thug or bully, that would address this challenge, perhaps, through the arts of courtly love.
Seasons have caressed the globe since I last put my hand to such a task, but I am willing to make the attempt to rekindle an historical art and old skill. The heart that speaks through my hands onto this page does not follow 13th Century rules of such 'courtly love' as I cannot be interested in keeping my feelings secret, nor does my belief include that the chivalric expression of affection be limited to those who are unable to execute upon said affection.
The perfect traditional courtly love is forever and irrevocably unrequited, only to share, at most, furtive glances across a dinner table or tournament field. My words and feelings do not come as this tradition, but from this tradition and expressed through a chivalric construct that is mine and mine alone.
I would express these words and the concepts they represent to you with the desire to know you better and a want, a yearning, to be closer to you. For me, there is no reason to hold anything back; no reason to withhold affection or to be content with those furtive glances.
How could I ever be satisfied?
So, as the sun rises on another day of knowing you better, I would ask your permission, from time to time, to send you this form of verse as a romantic gesture and to share my feelings with you.
Do you give permission, or shall I desist?
Yours, YYYY.
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