A love letter I wrote in the moment as it were. This exercise in creative writing, like all my poetry, may or may not have been written for someone specific- I love keeping you all guessing.
When I write in the moment, as opposed to writing from recollections of years ago, I write in the genre that strikes me most- Whether it be erotic scenes, poetry, love letters, or any one of a dozen formats. So, I am sure that some of you purists will argue that if indeed I am not writing for anyone specifically— that I must be faking the emotion.
Not to long ago, I wrote a kiss. The first inking of that emotional moment was admittedly lackluster. At the urging of someone close to my heart, I rewrote that kiss and I have to say I nailed it. That kiss sent hearts reeling, wet panties, and left me yearning for that kiss. In fact, I got a comment about that kiss that went something like:
I want that kiss
The real point is, I have never had that kiss myself, but I felt it- lived it.
Did I fake it?
Oh my sweet love….
The breath of late autumn has been fierce today. Coming under skies that
look brooding and contemplating, that breath has been constant with a
touch of ice on the edges.
The leaves of now abashed looking trees are littering lawns all up and
down Dale Avenue. Most of the fodder in the yards belongs somewhere else.
That breath truly has been strong.
But across from the porch, across two yards, and on to the next street,
there is one tree that has stood vigilant against the mighty breath of
fall.
That tree is painted with splotches of verdant green, chunks of old
orange, and a very healthy badge of rustic red fire.
The leaves hold fast against a steady wind that cascades over giving and
bending limbs and branches. They twist and turn, but do not yield to the
angry breath.
Today, as I sit here in awe of that one tree, in a neighborhood marked by
hundreds of naked dancers, I am humbled by our love.
A forever love that was discovered two springs ago. A love that has grown
for six seasons. A love that was sparked at the first grain drop in the
oldest hour glass.
A love that will spark life.
A love planted in strong soil and rooted with the total support of four
hands, two souls, two hearts, and fate. A love that has been nurtured, not
with exacting care, but with the fire of need. The need to know everything
about each other, the need to support and work side by side, the need give
entirely, the need to take without shame.
A love that has withstood mighty winds, and will withstand even mightier
winds to come. A love of complete devotion.
A love whose fruit is the fire of passion.
Today, that tree over on Janet Street standing tall against the elemental
onslaught…today, that tree is our love.
Tomorrow, Lover, the strength of our love will have outgrown that of the
tree.
The guessing part is suppose to end at some or the other point so that you can start with a fresh story !