In every day
there is something new
something unexpected
something different.
I remain wide-eyed
like a child
at the wonder of it.
.
.
© the author writing as Romantic Dominant
I have posted this before. I have not changed
Photography/Art by Erik Johansson
I do not believe
in astrology
fortune tellers
oracles
tarot cards
religions
predestination
or fate.
But I do believe
we had to meet.
.
.
© the author writing as Romantic Dominant
Not brand new but maybe apt.
Art by Rob Hefferan
You have ruined
my box of words.
None of them
are good enough.
None of them
are adequate.
None of them
can do you justice.
My nouns
are neutered,
my adjectives
are absent,
my verbs
are without value.
I have run out
of metaphors
similes
and superlatives.
You have ruined
my box of words.
How can I
describe you now?
.
.
© the author writing as Romantic Dominant
Not new, but probably relevant.
Art by the late Steve Hanks
When the night
is silent
holding its breath
for a miracle
I imagine you
closing your eyes
and dreaming only
of me.
.
.
© the author writing as Romantic Dominant
Art by William Oxer
Is your beauty
more dangerous
to me
than my words
are to you,
and will we
ever know
for sure?
.
.
© the author writing as Romantic Dominant
Written a year ago, but a valid question.
Art by William Oxer
He knows no other way
It is simply who he is. The way he has always been.
His earliest erotic fantasies were of control. And of damsels in distress.
And yet also of goddesses and worship.
He loves women. With respect. With admiration. With a deep and endless desire.
He needs to adore and to be adored.
Over the years he has taught himself to be a Master of exquisite pleasure and delicious pain. He has known beauty, sensuality and submission beyond words.
But now winter tugs at his coat. He has become lined and grizzled, etched and silver.
The night is long. And his fire burns low.
Yet there is a light. Innocent, pure and holy.
Could she be the one
the one
the one.
.
.
© the author writing as Romantic Dominant
I wrote this in December a few years ago, and have repeated it before at this time of year. I think I was perhaps feeling a little weary/melancholy when I first penned it. Smiles.
Photo/Art by Helionn on DeviantArt
I believe you
were always
promised
to me
across the ages
over distance
beyond
the night sky.
A gift
a prize
a treasure
forever
to be admired
and adored.
.
.
© the author writing as Romantic Dominant
Art by William Oxer
.
.
He thinks about her.
He is sipping red wine. It fills his mouth with grape and his heart with hope. Outside it is still raining.
Earlier he had walked the hounds in a brief respite from the deluge. There had been a delayed monsoon waiting in the dying-leaved trees.
A hidden sun had set invisibly over his grey, sodden, dripping village before four o’clock. The afternoon had been swallowed up by night without a whimper
It is the shortest day.
He lives by the seasons and can already feel the change. The days will lengthen from now. It is a clean, beckoning, hungry new page.
He will write her name on it.
He does not know who she is. And yet he already senses her presence in his life.
He cannot be sure if they have yet made contact, chased shadows, crossed borders, traded smiles, touched hands, exchanged truths, offered up words, or painted pictures on a blank canvas.
He is unable to tell if they are already gently familiar or are completely unconnected strangers.
Yet he is certain, at this change of the solstice, that she is there. For him.
So he takes another sip and leans back into the soft, comfortable leather of his chair.
He can almost smell her scent on his fingers.
.
.
© the author writing as Romantic Dominant
I was certain I had posted a short piece some time ago inspired by the winter solstice which, in the northern hemisphere, was yesterday. I looked for it a few years back and I eventually found it under the title ‘Her scent’. I had actually written it in 2012. Time flies.
Much has changed since then. Sadly both of the hounds mentioned in the piece have died. The village has been swapped for an even smaller one. And I left behind a business life some time ago to focus on my writing (a success) and do other things.
But the words seem to capture the day and the time. So I have posted last year and the two years before, with a new title to celebrate the day. But with the same art. I think it meant something to me at the time. I do believe posting it has become a Winter Solstice tradition.
Art by Thomas Saliot
Here
in this iron and brass bed
in this oak-beamed room
in this ancient cottage
in this rural village
in the heart of England
I think of you
and I want you.
.
.
© the author writing as Romantic Dominant
Art by William Oxer
You and I
we dance
in these shadows
so darkly
so quietly
so closely
so secretly
no light escapes
not a whisper
is heard.
Nothing
is revealed.
.
.
© the author writing as Romantic Dominant
Art by Hamish Blakely
