She has it

He adores women.

Their curves, their elegance, the softness of their silky skin. The way their bodies sway when they walk, Their sense of humour, their warmth, their generosity, their clear, incisive intelligence.

He adores their hair, their eloquent eyes, the hallowed velvet of their throat, the aching sensuality of their thighs.

He adores their femininity, their courage, their balance, their insanity. The way they talk so intimately amongst themselves.

He adores their resilience, their vulnerability. their anger, their passion, their truth and their lies.

He adores their motherhood, their sisterhood, their sainthood, He adores their independence, their sociability, their ability to survive.

He adores the fact that he finds them all so desperately, outrageously fucking sexy.

And yet there is something. Something that turns adoration into hungry desire.

Something intangible, wild, expressive, beautiful, endearing, submissive, strong and utterly mesmerizing that compels him. Something that captivates him completely.

She has it.

.

.

© the author writing as Romantic Dominant/Faded Romantic

Art by Francine van Hove

I originally posted this nine years ago.  It is my hymn to women in general. Although when it was written it may well have been for one in particular. And who knows, it might even be for one now.

 

As Woman

If I was a grand architect of design.

If I was the master of texture, colour, shape, style and beauty.

If I could mould and fashion and forge personality, intelligence, sensitivity, sensuality, generosity and strength.

If I possessed the perfect, potent power of pure magic

If I was a wild-eyed cosmic genius with a boundless, endless, limitless imagination.

If my creativity dwarfed and humbled every artist, scientist, writer, sculptor and mathematician who had ever graced the planet.

Even if I had dominion over all things

I still could never create a creature

as unique

and as extraordinary

as Woman.

.

.

© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Art by Marcos Beccari

I first wrote and posted this a number of years ago – and as every year passes, I know it more. And adore.

 

As Woman

If I was a grand architect of design.

If I was the master of texture, colour, shape, style and beauty.

If I could mould and fashion and forge personality, intelligence, sensitivity, sensuality, generosity and strength.

If I possessed the perfect, potent power of pure magic

If I was a wild-eyed cosmic genius with a boundless, endless, limitless imagination.

If my creativity dwarfed and humbled every artist, scientist, writer, sculptor and mathematician who had ever graced the planet.

Even if I had dominion over all things

I still could never create a creature

as unique

and as extraordinary

as Woman.

.

.

© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Art by Marcos Beccari

I first wrote and posted this a number of years ago – and as every year passes, I know it more. And adore.

 

She has it

 

He adores women.

Their curves, their elegance, the softness of their silky skin. The way their bodies sway when they walk, Their sense of humour, their warmth, their generosity, their clear, incisive intelligence.

He adores their hair, their eloquent eyes, the hallowed velvet of their throat, the aching sensuality of their thighs.

He adores their femininity, their courage, their balance, their insanity. The way they talk so intimately amongst themselves.

He adores their resilience, their vulnerability. their anger, their passion, their truth and their lies.

He adores their motherhood, their sisterhood, their sainthood, He adores their independence, their sociability, their ability to survive.

He adores the fact that he finds them all so desperately, outrageously fucking sexy.

And yet there is something. Something that turns adoration into hungry desire.

Something intangible, wild, expressive, beautiful, endearing, submissive, strong and utterly mesmerizing that compels him. Something that captivates him completely.

She has it.

.

.

© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Art by Francine van Hove

I originally posted this seven years ago.  It is my hymn to women in general. Although when it was written it may well have been for one in particular. And who knows, it might even be for one now.

 

As Woman

If I was a grand architect of design.

If I was the master of texture, colour, shape, style and beauty.

If I could mould and fashion and forge personality, intelligence, sensitivity, sensuality, generosity and strength.

If I possessed the perfect, potent power of pure magic

If I was a wild-eyed cosmic genius with a boundless, endless, limitless imagination.

If my creativity dwarfed and humbled every artist, scientist, writer, sculptor and mathematician who had ever graced the planet.

Even if I had dominion over all things

I still could never create a creature

as unique

and as extraordinary

as Woman.

.

.

© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Art by Marcos Beccari

I first wrote and posted this a number of years ago – and as every year passes, I know it more. And adore.

 

She has it

 

He adores women.

Their curves, their elegance, the softness of their silky skin. The way their bodies sway when they walk, Their sense of humour, their warmth, their generosity, their clear, incisive intelligence.

He adores their hair, their eloquent eyes, the hallowed velvet of their throat, the aching sensuality of their thighs.

He adores their femininity, their courage, their balance, their insanity. The way they talk so intimately amongst themselves.

He adores their resilience, their vulnerability. their anger, their passion, their truth and their lies.

He adores their motherhood, their sisterhood, their sainthood, He adores their independence, their sociability, their ability to survive.

He adores the fact that he finds them all so desperately, outrageously fucking sexy.

And yet there is something. Something that turns adoration into hungry desire.

Something intangible, wild, expressive, beautiful, endearing, submissive, strong and utterly mesmerizing that compels him. Something that captivates him completely.

She has it.

.

.

© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Art by Francine van Hove

I originally posted this six years ago.  It is my hymn to women in general. Although when it was written it may well have been for one in particular. And who knows, it might even be for one now.

 

As Woman

If I was a grand architect of design.

If I was the master of texture, colour, shape, style and beauty.

If I could mould and fashion and forge personality, intelligence, sensitivity, sensuality, generosity and strength.

If I possessed the perfect, potent power of pure magic

If I was a wild-eyed cosmic genius with a boundless, endless, limitless imagination.

If my creativity dwarfed and humbled every artist, scientist, writer, sculptor and mathematician who had ever graced the planet.

Even if I had dominion over all things

I still could never create a creature

as unique

and as extraordinary

as Woman.

.

.

© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Art by Marcos Beccari

I first wrote and posted this a few years ago – and as every year passes, I know it more. And adore.

 

She has it

 

He adores women.

Their curves, their elegance, the softness of their silky skin. The way their bodies sway when they walk, Their sense of humour, their warmth, their generosity, their clear, incisive intelligence.

He adores their hair, their eloquent eyes, the hallowed velvet of their throat, the aching sensuality of their thighs.

He adores their femininity, their courage, their balance, their insanity. The way they talk so intimately amongst themselves.

He adores their resilience, their vulnerability. their anger, their passion, their truth and their lies.

He adores their motherhood, their sisterhood, their sainthood, He adores their independence, their sociability, their ability to survive.

He adores the fact that he finds them all so desperately, outrageously fucking sexy.

And yet there is something. Something that turns adoration into hungry desire.

Something intangible, wild, expressive, beautiful, endearing, submissive, strong and utterly mesmerizing that compels him. Something that captivates him completely.

She has it.

.

.

© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Art by Francine van Hove

I originally posted this five years ago.  It is my hymn to women in general. Although when it was written it may well have been for one in particular. And who knows, it might even be for one now.

 

As Woman

If I was a grand architect of design.

If I was the master of texture, colour, shape, style and beauty.

If I could mould and fashion and forge personality, intelligence, sensitivity, sensuality, generosity and strength.

If I possessed the perfect, potent power of pure magic

If I was a wild-eyed cosmic genius with a boundless, endless, limitless imagination.

If my creativity dwarfed and humbled every artist, scientist, writer, sculptor and mathematician who had ever graced the planet.

Even if I had dominion over all things

I still could never create a creature

as unique

and as extraordinary

as Woman.

.

.

© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Art by Marcos Beccari

I first wrote and posted this a few years ago – and as every year passes, I know it more. And adore.

 

She has it

 

He adores women.

Their curves, their elegance, the softness of their silky skin. The way their bodies sway when they walk, Their sense of humour, their warmth, their generosity, their clear, incisive intelligence.

He adores their hair, their eloquent eyes, the hallowed velvet of their throat, the aching sensuality of their thighs.

He adores their femininity, their courage, their balance, their insanity. The way they talk so intimately amongst themselves.

He adores their resilience, their vulnerability. their anger, their passion, their truth and their lies.

He adores their motherhood, their sisterhood, their sainthood, He adores their independence, their sociability, their ability to survive.

He adores the fact that he finds them all so desperately, outrageously fucking sexy.

And yet there is something. Something that turns adoration into hungry desire.

Something intangible, wild, expressive, beautiful, endearing, submissive, strong and utterly mesmerizing that compels him. Something that captivates him completely.

She has it.

.

.

© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Art by Francine van Hove

I originally posted this four years ago.  It is my hymn to women in general. Although when it was written it may well have been for one in particular. And who knows, it might even be for one now.