I am an imperfect man.
and she has a beautiful perfect
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 my hands.
I wish her heart to never break
nor the one to be the cause of
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
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
mesmerizes my eyes, for it is true,
so very true straight to
and beckons for me to hold it
for all the rest of my days.
by Philip Wardlow , August 31st, 2022
You can only look at her and get tongue tied
as your mind
That girl over there in that short skirt
wearing those black
thigh highs and garters, along
with sharp heels that could most definitely hurt.
Oh, and when she smiles,
A storm walking, dream of a nightmare on the prowl.
she exudes, the magicalicious
way she crosses the room.
It’s not fair I tell you.
No simple mortal stands a chance.
For they are all in thrall.
Pupils dilated to drink her in.
Lips wetted just in case of a kiss
Let’s not forget,
her charmtrap of a stare,
dark eyes that scream you fucking
better be aware
Because I’m here,
“I’m always on when I’m out, and you
look pretty cute,”
she almost seems to whisper
just to you.
Even though you are nowhere near her in
She’s got a confoundous amount of play
in what that grin directed
“Hey, I spy with my little eye,
a guy I might let take me for a little drive tonight.
does he even have the key, let alone the gas
to get me there where I need to be?”
I jingle my keys as the
bojangle in me wants to bodangle
with you in so many delicious
I take your hand and lead you
home, climb the stairs,
and close the door.
The stars are forgotten
as the man in the moon seeks
to peek in my room to learn a
thing or two of what
I am about to do to you and
by Philip Wardlow 2017
You drive me to want to look you in the eye with a primal challenge when meeting you for the first time across the dark forest floor in the dead of night.
Your body bathed in the meager light of a crescent moon, wrapping around your delicate frame, yet I sense there is nothing delicate about you.
The cold doesn’t quite touch you fully. The night entreats your presence…you belong here…you have always belonged here.
The night is a comfort to me as well, my senses focused. You shine in the meager light. I see a nobility in you, a raw wildness , pure in its essence distilled before me , running like a river as you stand there.
Laying down on our backs naked on the ground, shoulder to shoulder, all senses attuned, to the night, to ourselves,
to each other…
Nothing needs to be said as we are wrapped in the comfort of it all.
I smell you , almost most tasting you with the tip of my tongue, from deep in your core, it calls.
I don’t ask as I force your legs open and take what’s mine now and forever as you look at the stars above as a cool wind hardens your nipples to points in the night air.
I will never surrender your body pleasures until you shudder and explode within my grasp, until you are sated fully and surrender them to me..
I want more of you this night …bite me, claw me, lose yourself in the nature of me, my wildness for you is pure and freely given.
You have me in full as my nature demands it , I please you while you do the same…leaving you spent and sore, scratched by the forest floor with its branches and rocks cutting us as we take each other in good measure.
In the end, we look to be half feral, at the end I shall give you your first kiss as I will truly know you then in truth.
by Philip Wardlow 2017