For Leiroy, The Love Of My Life

Time stands still, as we lay here in this bed,

Not a single word is uttered, yet so much has been said .

We stare into each others' eyes, our lips curl into a smile,

The world outside seems to fade away,

There's no soul for another mile.

I feel your heart beat faster, as you hold onto my waist,

There's a fire burning in your eyes,

Your smile gives me but a taste.

Your sweet breath sings a beautiful tune, as you draw me closer in,

My skin tingles beneath your touch,

Now I feel the fire within.

Hopelessly we give in, our lips begin to meet,

Lost in passion's embrace with kisses oh so sweet.

Your fingers gently trace every outline on my skin,

Your hungry eyes beckon, I surrender and let you win. 

Desire runs deep, your want grows with every kiss,

Each gasp for air is followed by sounds of unadulterated bliss.

My body aches with a passion that's unlike ever before, 

Consumed by our carnal needs that keep us coming back for more.

Words can't nearly describe the feeling that we share,

When we're lost in love's embrace, there's nothing that can compare.

Call it chemistry, sparks or what you wish, all I see is me and you,

A love like this knows no bounds, for what I say is true. 

Ramblings Of A Crazy Person

I don't write for myself anymore. Whether it's about my hopes and dreams, silly ideas or my musings on life as I've come to know it in my 28 years on this planet, I just don't write anymore.

I've often felt that I best express myself when I write; words flow with ease; I articulate better—I somehow manage to make a whole lot of sense when I just let the words flow. So what's stopped me these past two years? 

My job involves writing on a daily basis—I give readers tidbits of facts, packaged in a rather vibrant wrapping paper, complete with bow and all—but somehow, I find that there's something still amiss. 

Maybe I'm in my head a little too much; maybe I've invested so much of my emotions in my soulmate that I don't need to vent on paper anymore; or maybe, there's something improsoned within me, and I just need to find the key. Whatever seems to be the problem, I need to break out of this rut. 

The fact remains, I miss the simple pleasure of writing just for me—of having that secret space, just for myself, where my words aren't censored by some snooty copy editor who can't really tell her arse from her elbow; where I have the freedom to express myself, without being subjected to "writing school" knowledge, but instead, really have something to say. 

No, the irony hasn't escaped me—I do realise this is a blog and that the "my space" aspect of writing is defeated by the fact that this isn't exactly private, but who am I kidding, I barely have any followers so there's really no chance that someone is going to read this. 

And so I rant—rant that I may never really live up to my full potential; rant that I've let a crazy, erratic boss take charge of the direction my creativity is supposed to flow in; rant that I'm too naive to accept that this is a dog eat dog world and that its every man for himself.

I began this post in the hopes that it would turn into a poem. Instead, I'm left with a monologue that took about 30 minutes to jot down, and will accomplish absolutely nothing. Goodie!

But, I will admit that it does feel good to write, just for me, again. And who knows, someday, these ramblings of a crazy person, might just be worth something. 

Me and my wishful thinking, I know. Maybe next time, I'll decide to rant, and hopefully, end up with a poem instead.