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Conversation with a loved oneIt's a welling in my heart that I don't know how to deal with. A mixture of pain, love and fear. Fear that I might lose you through an act of thoughtlessness on my part. Sorrow mixed with this unquenchable fear. I want to cry for want of relief. A release from these emotions. I want to hold you, a ward against my fear. I want to feel your mouth against mine, telling me that you won't leave me. It's a fear of rejection and I don't want to ever feel it again. I kiss you and all I feel is love for you. A sense of oneness that can't be faked. Or explained. This is one of those nights that is all about tenderness. Softness. I need to be held tonight.
Then I'll hold you. You just need to say something.
I just feel like a little boy who needs to be told that the monster under the bed isn't there anymore. That I'll be safe.
You are safe. I promise you're safe.
When I'm with you, I do feel safe. I feel home. You just smile at me and I feel so safe. I feel so...alone here. When I'm not with you,
After Walt WhitmanAfter Walt Whitman
There was a child who went forth everyday
And the first object he looked upon, that object he became,
And that object became a part of him for the day or a certain part of the day
Or for many years or stretching cycles of years.
The Boy watched as the toys dangled
His crib bright and warm and soft as the spring breeze outside
The blue of his blanket matched the blue of his eyes and the color of the skies.
Filled with love and kindness from parents, he was sent on his way like the children before him,
Sent to the small world of his peers to endure their jeers.
Back to the warm, safe arms of father and mother, to kiss away the pain and shame.
These memories became a part of him, and he lost the openness of a child,
His smile and laugh were few and far between, a guarded expression replaced the boyhood charm on his tender face.
Gone to him were the summers of baseball, hunting frogs and playing cops and robbers.
Now he played the games of men, their serious expressions
Our DutyWe swallowed the path home
Because we were hungry,
Though starving is an ongoing
Story, an empty bag
Dancing in the streets,
Full of an unfastened voice
Walking through the house,
Wind unchained, heart admonished.
Heaven fills its eyes, crawls away,
That sleeping boat content to follow
The vacant waves, intervals
Of dying that we dare not interrupt,
And we watch the kind ear shrinking
From our charcoal docks; heaven
With a full stomach crawls away.
This is what we were put here for.
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^Nyx-Valentine arrived in our community and started whipping everyone into a frenzy with her relentless desire to bring the Artistic Nude and Fetish galleries to the fore. 9 years later, and it's safe to say that Nyx is not only a leader as a photographer in these galleries, but she has also established herself as a much saught after model. ^... Read More