Attracted to the intensity of his solitude
An aura of wounded defiance
Creates tremors through her weary heart
His melancholy a shield, summoning
her desire to discover his secrets
Imagining his whispered pain against
her cheek, an harbor offered
in life’s treacherous waters
The gleam in his brooding eyes
a beacon to her tempestuous nature
Her need to be needed by this man
drives her to morality’s razor edge
His measured words of sharp intellect
speaks to her dormant dreams of youth
Passion percolates in her veins, contemplating
mental jabs of wordplay and philosophies
Heat radiates from his core, protecting
a cool and polished exterior, one of ice
A mere caress of his skin would melt
her hardened, cynical soul
©04/27/2020
*Five years ago, I wrote prose about a woman’s obsession with a man. Tonight, I attempted to turn it into poetry.
Whiskey Tales and Spells 
Interestingly, I once fell in love (of sorts) with a man a few years back and I remember having many of these very same thoughts. Like, you could be writing my heart out, at the time. (Thank god I saw him for who he really was: a predator of women’s hearts.) 💕
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The experience has certainly made me wiser and more cautious. Although I do miss those moments of euphoria. 💜
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oh lord yes. I think we are speaking the same heart-language, for sure.
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Wow! This is so deep. Loved it to the core. ❤️❤️❤️❤️
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Thank you, WildHeart. I think I like my prose version better but this still conveyed the main points.
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🤗🤗💕💕😘😘😘
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