Secret love and hidden want….

Secret love and hidden want…

Image result for artwork of lover embracing

Fiery eyes woman watched the Poet read his words at the Poetry reading at the Monterey coffee house.
Her sweet voice like sweet honeys asked him as he sat with her.
How do you ascend into private hell and don’t regret the final destination?

The old Poet told her. The dead can’t love. They don’t need love. There are many ways to die.
The private hell isn’t so bad.

She declared. You are foolish. You don’t want to be captive and bounded by sweet kiss and embrace?
You don’t want a lover at your feet. A willing woman taking you to wild and not so tamed places?

Old Poet smiled. He looked at the beautiful and tempting woman and told her. I have wished for days
and nights where passion is everlasting. I want tender flesh against me. It was my only goal once. I
retreated for many reasons. Regretful deeds and actions had left me empty. We rake and heap our place.

Woman don’t understand when man isn’t smitten with want for them. The Poet saw her beautiful eyes, her wanting lips and perfect body with curves and valleys to be touched and discovered. She asked him. Do you
think of me? Is there fire left to be radiated by what I could do for you?  In your eyes I see your wishes and need.
You listen to me and I feel your eyes and mind trying to seek secrets thoughts and need without engaging in
touch or control. The Poet smiled and told her. Don’t start a fire, you cannot put out. If I knew the layers of your body and
mind and I drank the taste of your skin. I would lose myself and never return. The fury of love cannot be
stopped. My final destination would be sadness. Some woman are held forever. Some woman are like the Helen of Troy. You will die for them. Woman can be savage in need and they can retreat at their will.

Pretty Poet asked. If you don’t dance or know the fury of uncontrolled love. How will you engage
in real life?

Old Poet stood up and kissed the pretty writer and said. You are far from me and I’m safe. Some woman
have the spark. With one word and a gentle smile. The  movement of leg to tempt the poor man to look and want more. Moving shoulders to show suppliant  breasts making the poor man falling to dangerous places and needs.
I know imagination lead to flood of hope. Bequeath love is forever. Safety laid in lucid and undeclared love.

She retreated for a moment. Her prowess and  confident building new strength. She knew the old Poet would
steal her away in a New York minute and never release her. She knew the eyes don’t lie. She saw the love in his eyes for her.

              Coyote/John Castellenas