Playing With Words, Vol. 4

Thoughts of what we could be.
Assumptions of what we would be.
The potential of what we should be.
Caught up in the feelings you've brought up.
Falling for you has reacquainted me with the depths of my heart,
A place I hadn't stumbled upon in some time.
You'd think that such a warm area would be a refuge in such a cold world,
But it was quite the opposite;
Visiting meant you weren't tough enough, despite logic.
The idea of "us" was stuck in my head, and I could not dislodge it.
Different memories of you created the snapshot in my head, a composite.
Love, at one point, seemed grand and exotic...
But you lassoed the moon and brought it to me.
It's just too bad that you gave me the rope instead of tying me down with it.
My imagination ran as far as the moon would take me away,
Drifting until the perspective started shifting.
Rose lenses lost their tinges...
The facade lost its hinges.
All that I envisioned came crashing down, just like I did.
Reality prevailed...
Leaving me with the thoughts, assumptions, and potential I had originally lauded.
Oh, the irony of being in your feelings when that special feeling has departed.
It's a long climb out of here...and I don't even know where to start it.

-A.Lewis

Playing With Words, Pt. 3

I really don't know...
What does one write about at this time of morning?
The moon still reigns,
But the rise of the sun steadily approaches.
Dew has strewn itself across the grass,
A blanket that will shimmer in a few hours.
All is calm; all is still.
What does that mean for how I feel?
Are any emotions elicited at this time more honest, more real?
As the sun and moon juxtapose their respective arrival and departure,
My feelings fail to do the same.
What's here is what's here.
It's all so clear,
Yet shrouded in the darkness of the night.
Writing is my brightest gift, so I write.
Illumination for the consternation,
Conflagrations of concentrations of excellence.
Proficient descriptions of my emotions and attachments
Shine a light in the deep chasm of my affection,
Bringing me that much closer to clarity.
Yet, as unsure as I am about whether this is night or morning,
I'm not sure if this is love forming.
...I really don't know.

-A. Lewis

Playing With Words, Pt. 2 (this may become a common occurrence)

The way your soul articulates itself...
It speaks the same language as mine.
We should have an intimate conversation of the minds.
I'd like to speak with your desires,
Gather some information on what they require.
I'd also like to speak with your yearning;
Maybe I'll convince her to retire.
Might I have dialogue with your dreams to see about how they aspire?
Discuss intimations with your imagination,
Intently listening to what you ideate when you get "higher?"
I'd certainly love to have a talk with your passion,
To see what lights your fire.
In talks with your pain,
I'd inquire about what draws your tears and what draws your ire.
There's so much to learn...
So much to share, it would be easy to tire.
But, I have stated my interest.
And I am no liar.
I'm not 100% sure of what you're selling,
But you have a potential buyer...
Because the way your soul articulates itself,
It speaks to mine.
It's sold my soul on having an intimate conversation of the minds.

-A. Lewis\

Playing With Words...Wrote This In 5 Minutes.

You...you're more than who you've slept with.
Your little black book is not a 5-page indictment of your soul,
Not a textbook to be studied for the defamation of your character.
It is, simply, a little black book.
Most assume that a lack of self-respect is the dark ink that covers the pages,
That there's a war going on inside of you that rages,
That you act out in beds, using them as stages...
But they're all wrong.
Your legs don't open for just anyone.
That is the prevailing presumption,
But the presumptuous pricks that play judge and jury concerning your promiscuity
Probably pant and piddle when the panties drop,
Paling in comparison to your proficiency.
You are who you are.
You do as you please.
Their judgments of you only bring THEM down to their knees.
Slaves to condescension, in need of comprehension.
They fail to understand that a little black book is just a little black book.
It is not an affront to the Bible or any other religious text.
It does not leave one in a hex.
While they are vexed and perplexed,
Go ahead and have your sex.
Because you...you're more than who you've slept with.

-A. Lewis

Musings at 4AM...A Bug In Your Ear

Vibe with me for a moment...
Let me put a bug in your ear; start an infestation.
Sure, this is some smooth form of persuasion,
But in no way is it a game...
It's more of a mental impregnation,
With hopes of emotional gestation.
Any young brother could tell you that he's "not the same."
I'd rather show you that I'm different.
All I need is an opportunity,
And having only one shot at it is cool with me.
I really just want you to hear me out for a second.
I know I'm not what you're used to...
But if what you're used to isn't working,
It's left you sad, left you confused, and left you hurting,
Then why not try something new?
I could go on and on, rhyming and such,
Yet, I'd rather leave it here and not say too much.
I'll let you fill in the rest.
Know this though:
"What if" is one hell of a pest.

-A. Lewis

Come Closer

Come closer...
I need a session to make a mess in your essence,
Sin in the blessings,
Learn a few lessons about beauty after your undressing.
Your body is known to make an impression...
But now that I'm up against it and pressing,
Inhibitions lessen, along with physical discretion.
Supple, subtle curves...
Causing a gentle aggression.
Desiring to love every bit of you,
But to do so inch-by-inch, section-by-section.
The erection is just a manifestation of my intended direction.
You're going home tonight...back to Venus,
To that climax so high that it escapes detection.
It's clear that you were the right selection;
Nothing about these moments needs correction.
Perfection eases over us like the beautiful darkness of the night sky.
Making out with all types of digression...
Hands in search of answers to metaphysical questions.
Touching and feeling as our souls ask if there is a ceiling,
Any limit to how we're playing the cards our instincts are dealing,
Any foreseeable end to our sensual procession.
Lost in the progression...
Vertical bodies now horizontal hotly,
Convulsing to keep in pleased confessions,
As I perform various forms of physical introspection.
Deep interjections to deepen the connections.
No repression or suppression of our sexuality tonight,
Culture's obsession with sexual oppression left with the sunlight.
Under the cover of the stars, the grace of the moon,
We claim the night as our possession.
Making love like it's our profession,
Living in the beauty of expression.
Love: no questions, no concessions.
Just come closer...

-A. Lewis