Your Art Of Wooing....
Wooing tis an art,
a sensual crossing of ties,
eyes decent as he looks
into hers so completely,
she searches for the look
which brings forth
a fullness in her heart and soul,
she sits quietly beside
you always uplifting
and supporting
that which she acquired
through love,
she is an eternal mystery to him,
at each turn he wonders
if he fell from her grace,
for she rules the mighty
in her gardens’ delight,
their bodies intertwined
lost in the passion that be,
he searches in every touch,
every movement of her body
seeking to find that
which pleases her
beyond the depths
of the angels flight.
it is the flow of his love through her,
feeling the potion of desire
become the lost soul
she never meant to let go.
yet unattended she grows cold,
no blanket to warm her –
to hold her
against the chill
that overcomes
when this wooing
is lost in accomplishment.
it is the reasons
she drifts to another world -
a place you once
had reason to know,
but alas her heart
now caught safely
you believe -
inside the net
tying now her wings,
only, it is when
she is left
to draw dust upon
the shelf of accomplishment
she falters in her defense
into the arms of another,
another who finds value
in her existence
as you once seemed to do,
enough that your eyes never waiver,
your ear doesn't turn deaf
to the cries she holds within
awaiting you to save her
from the fall she has taken
in search of what she found with you
though never is it the same,
she prays of you
to see the through the tears
that fall invisibly
to the naked unknown eye..
as the halls are no longer
lined in erotic artistic emotions
flowing on the tips,
onto a lightly brushed canvas -
tis the art of wooing
each image creating
the woman --
the one soul,
who fell in love with you.
not for your stature
or the beauty she sees outwardly
but for that which she cannot see,
for you hold the brush
as she awaits your strokes
to rekindle the torch
you let turn into
a dimly dying ember,
an ember which never stops
needing to be attended to,
an ember following the heart's
burning, yearnings,
her the beauty
of the art of wooing
which you the painter
of love and fidelity
are always painting,
never to be quite finished
otherwise he might find a canvas
is all the owns
because the art of wooing once kept
his lover thought to be captured evermore
inside his net -
she’s struggling to free herself
through someone who will renew
her lost value in the eyes
of the man she dreamed
every dream with,
of the eyes she looked
so deeply into
always searching for the beauty -
of your abilities to own her completely
so long as you never
lose sight –
of your art of wooing……
©Kristy Tallman – All rights reserved.