Tag Archives: love

Glass Heart


I am an  imperfect man.
and she has a beautiful perfect 
transparent heart
of which she lets me
hold in my rough hands.

Her heart is warm to the touch
never cold, for inside of it
it's full of fire,  a fervor for life
I see  burning bright, for her heart
is made of the most pristine glass
I see through it clearly
to the flickering flames within
that dance and dance
always before my eyes.

Yet I am flawed, and my 
seeing leaves me sometimes blind
at the warmth and wonder of
her heart I hold in many hands.

I wish her heart to never break
nor the one to be the cause of 
the breaking. 

I hold it delicately lest to crush it,
yet not too firmly for it to slip
from my hands
I hold it with a willful assurance of self
as I marvel  at  the magical
glow that pervades from 
within.

Her glass heart is stronger than it
seems, more than she even knows.
Tougher than any Titans mighty
blows could wrought asunder.

Her glass heart's unwavering 
transparence
mesmerizes my eyes, for it is true,
so very true  straight to
it's core.
and beckons for me  to hold it in my hands
for all the rest of my days.


by Philip Wardlow , August 31st, 2022













The Adored and the Smitten


Which do you prefer to be?
The Adored or the Smitten?

Why, as the Adored must come
all the rewards, 
Eyes upon you,  an audience
numbering from one to one million.
Hell even the right one can pour it on thicker
in one mere moment than a million.
How can you lose. How can you not see
all the pleasure that brings?

As the Adored are you ever bored?
The Smitten have always outnumbered
the Adored. 
They keep coming and coming and coming.
Literally they may be coming.
But in all seriousness,
let's just hope they don't knock upon
your door as they can get quite obsessive I have heard.
Gift upon gift, upon gift,  just to catch a peek
perhaps to see, if what they  they sent
fits.
It does, Oh , it's divine! 
Oh, by the way I also like the white
one.

But the Smitten, oh the Smitten, 
they have their dreams
manifested in flesh, and a smile,
and words that are just for them.
Oh, the attention....it's everything.
To be seen, to know you affect their
life in that one small moment 
To possess the power to push it 
up or down.
They are allowed to  live within the life of the Adored, sitting at
the edge of them, just a hair's width away
from their every movement.
Keep those compliments coming though,
never wary for the Adored do get bored
as do the Smitten.

It's a transaction,  a give and take. 
A take and give.
Did you think you were Special?
You the Adored, do you think you are truly treasured? 
You the Smitten are you truly charmed? 
Do you think you see them as they truly are?

If in this life we flow from Give and Take
what is ever truly real, what is ever truly fake
if all our dealings are ever based upon
the transaction?

by Philip Wardlow,  August 31st 2022
 


  


 
  




 

If I Didn’t have her


If  I didn't have her in my life
I would be  less than
My days would be dim,
and my  smile would be less inclined.

I would know loneliness, 
I would know isolation
and I would cry the fool every night
of my life if I didn't have this woman
to hold on to when
all the world swung from wrong to
right and back again.

She's a sweet one, my woman,
she's a handful to, but she's 
grabbed a handful of my heart
will all the strength she has in
her, and I don't feel her ever wanting
to let go anytime soon.

If  I didn't have her in my life,
I would ask the Universe why
But I don't have to ask that question.
Because she's right here,
right now, in my arms.

By Philip Wardlow Aug 22nd 2022











Encounters with women


Six masterpieces Titian painted for Philip II of Spain have been reunited  for the first time since the 16th century - Washington Post

As she  walked down the hall,  every up and down turn of her hips mesmerized me more than a  snake charmers dance with  a cobra…

She was  a petulant child trapped in  a woman’s body  with the insatiable  appetite of a sexual succubus, 

She  confessed her desires, let me have all of her, then used me up, cast me aside,  and then knocked on my door and asked for it again and I obliged her with a smile and let her in.

I would have come and danced with her in the rain but sometimes I liked to watch  from afar and get lost in the beauty exploding from her smile.

Neither one of her two sides were her but both together made her who she was.

Her  curves were  beautiful, from hip to lip, from breasts to almond eyes, She took delight in letting me help her with all her secret sins that her mind meandered to.

Even the want of  death is life because its a feeling. Hold on to life through that feeling and claw your way out of your loose soiled grave dear girl.

When ever she bent over or reached up for something upon a shelf, did she know how absolutely enticing her body  looked when she did  it?  I’m thinking she did…

Violence never solved anything but it sure did look sexy on her in that moment in bed…

When she leaned her  face first  against the wall  wearing that silk dress knowing I knew she was  not wearing anything beneath, the invitation was too much to bear.

She  was  a magnet to me the first time I laid eyes upon  her and she has  been every day since.

by Philip Wardlow June 1st, 2022

 

My loose change


Ah melancholy you, melancholy me.
Twins of pains throughout our separate travels
in lands and time blown away by great
distances and choices right or wrongly
made.

You clutch dearly to your past like a child does a doll
all tattered and torn since received from her inception 
from the womb that bore here into this world.

Myself in that journey I took. and of which
I am still on, I fumble  in my pockets, fiddling with the
 loose change of memories I have always kept close
and collected throughout time.

Both predilections  in the way we cope in our
own entanglements are  either 
a solace, a penance, a nuisance, or
constant curse.

Why not us both seek a new  habit?

You throw down your doll 
I shall let my change fall
through my fingers as I grab
your hands tight in mine
and  continue 
our travels
together.


by Philip Wardlow  March 29th, 2022



The Dance


To and fro we go in life and all its pains  collected along the way.

In the beginning, a Tango,  feet sliding down the floor,
full of exuberant steps of youth with a crazy devil may care.
Never tiring,  head up, steps sure even if we fuck up
with every other step made. 

We are in motion, forward or back ,we are in motion
and that  is everything to  the youthful 
whether in body or the heart
it is everything.



By Philip Wardlow  March 21, 2022

My Perfect Heart


She loves me without question.
Adores me in the fullest.
Leaves me wondering what she sees in little old me.


This sweet, wonderfully funny, bombastically beauty of a woman with her chameleon like gorgeous sexy,  flourishing soul that beguiles me from her red hair to her dainty toes, from an arc of an eyebrow to the sway of her luscious hips in play, she always seems to get her way with every delicious day I find myself with her.

I have the clover, the horseshoe, the rabbit’s foot, and shooting star all wrapped up in her.

She’s my lucky charm I hold tight to, that magic that I delight to.

She is my wife, my perfect heart.

Forever my Valentine.

By Philip Wardlow Feb 14th 2022

The Everything and the Nothing


If I were to suddenly evanesce, to flee, to disappear, 
to run fast and headlong into the bright nothingness of the night,
what ruin would find my absence?

Would their be sick wailing siren calls of the once was
reaching my soul's ears 
through the
nothingness of me?

I hope not. Not Wailing over me.... a tear or two will do, followed
quickly with a laugh.

But I do not wish to know the old world anymore after I am gone.
Why dry up and go, if to only to still receive drops of the
once-was in a teacup, to simply drink bitterly
of.

Remember me or don't, for I will not care as
I lie afloat amongst the stars, dreaming of new
things, new worlds, new excursions to catapult
a frayed mind to healing, to repair a ripped soul
torn asunder.

Cry and smile in the same instant is
all I ask of you if you do remember, for I
liked to be missed in both respects.
So I guess I do care a little at that.

I believe in everything and nothing in this Universe and I
would miss both aspects were I to finally fall into the
abyss of what-not and possibly nothings.
 
I enjoy the Everything of  people healing of the
cuts they give themselves and get,  and its wondrously satisfying
to partake in living in that magical epiphany 
of them 
I do not enjoy the Nothing, in the sense that 
they will continually scratch the scabs to bleeding
every so often and there is no mop big enough, 
nor pail of water full enough 
to ever fully clean it all up.

I am tired of slipping in their blood.
The Everything of them is wonderful
buy sometimes the Nothing of them
becomes all too much. 


By Philip Wardlow Dec, 2021










 





 

	

From her eyes,to her smiles and hips


There is no greater story than us…

To meet during the chaos of our lives as the cruel planet revolved endlessly around.

The Universe said, “Here, take a look at this, isn’t it all you have ever wished for?”

“Yes, yes it is,” I replied inside, “she’s the type of girl I could love.”

From the come fuck-me eyes, to that open sweet smile, to those hips which told a future tale of open thighs letting me inside, from her warm heart to her internal heat.

When the Universe speaks, you better listen hard, for she may only whisper but once.

I didn’t blink, I didn’t turn away. I smiled back.

I saw her that night, fully. Her and I, laid out together for the next years of our lifetime and perhaps well beyond if the myths be true.

She was the one, she is the one.

From her eyes, to her smile, to her hips and well beyond.

By Philip Wardlow Aug 26th, 2021

I know I won’t cry


They say parents shouldn’t outlive their kids, but should an older brother outlive their younger?

Much like a parent, the older brother directs, and protects the course of the younger.

Unlike parents, the older brother can also be a partner, a fellow perpetrator of many a fun misdeed gone awry. That is where bonds lie deepest, where intimate secrets are kept and held between a kin closer than that of the mother or father.

Sharing of sins, and the punishment of those sins, sharing in the joys and adventures that is youth in its whole.

You share a core with that little brother that none may know. It’s unspoken but known to the bone between you two.

To the Bone.

It’s honored, it’s delicate. It’s something that always dwells.

So when you see your little brother, dismal and seemingly damned, fallen and fragile, raging against an unknown foe and miles from the place in him from where he was once was, you know.

Where in the core that you share, now only dwells despair, you weep, and you weep, and you weep in the silence where no sees, because a man doesn’t cry, they simply don’t.

You know you won’t cry as he lies in a casket, all dressed and prettied up. You know you won’t cry when other’s speak of him in passing or come up to you with a hug, and “I am sorry for your loss”

You know you won’t cry simply because you have already cried so much as bit by bit of your little brother was pulled from you, excised with a sharp knife, and put into a blender and pureed to mush.

By Philip Wardlow June 2021