The rhythm of your lips saturated the pearls that touched my hips. Poetic justice in motion. It was a communicable approach that dashed into the arms of the trees. The bark of the tree provided safety and comfort that no place could sustain. There is no other place like the rhythm of the drums playing in the valleys of the streets that could be heard, vibrating the earth that needed to rumble for a moment. Just like everything in life, nature needed to feel the vibration of the ocean at the base.
The jazz symphony orchestra aroused the crowd and elevated their spirits that were dying spiritually. It was musical healing that seduced the soul. It was a dance that no one could understand because they forgot the value of divine connection, intimacy, and beauty.
Not realizing the healing is my new high. There’s always something better waiting for your approval, and it’s like the seducing you needed to pull the trigger. It’s like fine wine and strawberry that drips on your neck for diving. As water cascading like a waterfall, it left me enchanted like a lone survivor finding out its beauty for the very first time.
You’d rather be blind to see you vanish in front of me. You were an island waiting to be explored. You succumbed to the secrets that you held on so tightly that your validity drenched your credibility.
The twilight of your radiance submerged into the ocean; it terrified the ethereal mystery that haunts your heart. The goddess emerged into the willow of the Algerian Sea and gave you a glimpse of the prophetic journey of healing.
It plucked the vitality that shredded your existence and that held your up like Mount Everest as you glided down the mountain without any safety. The glowing pearlescence that pultruded down your back when escaping your moaning droplets after weeks of captivity. The droplets of your fresh grapes and oranges, rendering for my response. The curves eagerly pulsate for sensual arousal, which has been deprived of a scrumptious appetite. The shivering expectance reached its pinnacle when the sand rubbed against my skin and felt the sensation of womanhood erecting from all angles. I was inconsolable, knowing that I’ve been deprived of the ecstasy of pleasure. It was concealed with privacy and protection without the nuisance of resiliency to save the shattered heart from your wounded silence. Your tears drowned me in the riverbank of the Mississippi River while I held and shared the tree that I sat on while no one was there.
When I collected my thoughts after a binge of belligerent craze, I took a deep sigh of relief that provided me a glimpse of excitement and euphoria. My narrative scorned the innocence of the nativity of a virgin but enlightened the seasoned prowess of my ancestors.
The breathtaking scenic view left me hostage of the dungeon of erotica. The pervaded intrusion left me raptured in the twilight of nostalgic fantasies for my slave. The unnerving captivity entertained the aesthetic pleasures of the lover laid out the initiation of recognition and delicate beginnings.
Copyright © 2021 by Sherley Delia. All rights reserved.
Healing Majestically 