August MacGregor

Celebrating Sensuality. Intended for mature audiences, 18 and over


5 Comments

In This Garden

garden

In this garden at mid-day,
your beauty is bright,
your smile and eyes of joy.
Laughing and dancing, you are
opened petals absorbing the sun,
sharing your sweet scent with the world.
The flowers sway with you,
grateful to be appreciated,
for their hard work to become
color and nectar
is now seen and loved.

In this garden at dusk,
your beauty has softened,
a dark translucent curtain covers you.
You linger here and there,
loving the sky’s colors of the tail end
of the sunset, a dying light
glorious in its death for the
reminder of mortality and the
wish for remembrance in another day.

In this garden at evening,
your beauty has deepened
into mysteries where I must
search the dark depths
mostly finding just glimpses of you.
Elusive as you are,
I continue my pursuit,
shrubs rubbing my cheeks,
thorns tearing my clothes–
as if to protect you from me.
But these flowers are merely jealous,
eventually they turn away and sleep
as I find you, embrace you
ensure that you will not rush off–
but you whisper,
I’ll stay, of course I’ll stay with you
as we lay on the grass of a garden path
trying to be as quiet as possible
to not wake up any of the flowers.

*****

Photo by RHiNO NEAL

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9 Comments

Staining

I’m trying to not let many months pass between my posts. While working on stories, I miss hanging around WordPress — and sometimes, I miss writing shorter work, which gives the satisfaction of finishing well before months of effort. I won’t try to keep a regular schedule, as I doubt that would last. So I’ll drop in when I can, and I’ll post some poetry. Here’s today’s…

*****

Handmade paper
as he wrote
her a poem
trying to
express his love.

Every word
felt clumsy
stumbling over
the next word.

The ink spreading
on his fingers
like blood
as if his heart
seeped through them.

Finally finished,
he gave her the paper,
and her eyes
told him the poem
was just right.


14 Comments

In That Song

it’s in hearing that song
that brings you back to the time
when you felt you lived
inside that song

its lyrics somehow
reflected what was going on
around you

the ache for things to be different
no matter how many prayers
your heart whispered,
they went unanswered

each prayer seeming more like
a shovel full of dirt
tossed to the side
to deepen the hole
in an attempt to bury your hopes

or maybe discover
water down there
to make a well

where you could stand
and listen to others
whisper down their prayers

you could softly answer
with that song
that wraps around them
and says the ache
is part of you

and it can help you treasure
the good times.

now the ache is a memory
among many memories
sweet and sad and precious
brought back by the melody

in that song.


17 Comments

She Was a Mystery

She was a mystery
of sidelong glances
Hair in front of her eyes
unswept
guarded
Eyes daring rather than agreeing
Lips slightly parted
as if nearly saying something
but for some reason not
When she did speak
it was smoke curling around your ear
words getting to touch you
as you wished to touch her
She seemed more suited for the night
with more places to hide
Although you wished to meet her
in the bright spots of the day
see her more clearly
But that might’ve dispelled
some of her mystery
And she alone chooses
when to let her clues out.


17 Comments

Bowlful of Cherries

cherries by Walid Mahfoudh (Flickr)

Naked and bedded
they fed each other cherries

Pinching a stem and holding the cherry
as if bait for a tiger

Lips spread wide, teeth bared,
they plucked the fruit from its stem

(First, she tickled under each cherry
with her tongue tip because she loved his reaction)

They used to be careful of the cherry juice,
so it wouldn’t get on the white sheet

But they decided pink explosive stains on the sheets
would be good reminders of this afternoon

The rule was tossed aside, and
spraying cherry juice added to the sensual fun

Cherry and cherry, back and forth, feeding and teasing,
the sweet flesh delightful in their mouths

He moved the wide bowl from between them
to the nightstand

As it was time to feast on each other.

*****

Photo by Walid Mahfoudh (Flickr)