I don't know but maybe life is a painter’s canvas or a poet’s pad, similar to an animated painting or a mind-altering poem… the capacity of life’s expectancy. A piece composed, engaging enthusiasm, capturing that most perfect adoration… as so many of my greatest works have been inked and penned but then, came you… you and your exquisiteness. Poignant like the words of a perfect poem… the flawlessness of a master piece…

You are to some degree… my muse; a presence so powerful that I am somewhat dumbstruck yet words flow from an excited soul… in whispers barely heard.

Odes flow from my mind to my heart, falling as drenching rains… and I’m soaked in your essence. Your cleverness creates a medley of stanzas, taking over me.
If I need to be reminded of the exquisiteness in the hardness of this life, I need look no further than to you… your femininity, sensuality, boldness yet softness… envelopes me… I feel much loved. How could it be that love for you won’t be in totality and completely?

Do you feel the influence of your passion; are you aware of the muse and dreams that you share as your heart speaks to me… are you?

The things that are not manifested or held back, are they not potent and physical desires that evoke an erotic pulsation? You breathe them within my depths and they do burn and I lose all sense of time and control.

I will take you in my heart to give you clarity; to make you see that I can turn your most intimate reveries into reality and burn to my memory every scent, every distinctive taste and every appeal towards intimate responses of untainted satisfaction… kissing you deeply until my soul is felt… until all your sensibilities are gone… until our love transcends moods and we are never to forget the day the rhythm of love fell upon us like showers in a tropical rain forest… as we forever give thanks to God for us.

Stephen Hills