Thank you, Mr. D, for another gorgeous birthday poem. You are my favorite writer of all time, and I love you more than words.
The first thought to come to my mind as I sit, and ponder my love for my partner is this (a smile makes its way to the tip of my lips, and I think): “I’m the luckiest guy to exist!”
So I guess it makes sense to compose me a list. To enumerate reasons why you are the shit. But it seems, as I think, that I always do this. So let me just give it a bit of a twist.
I’ll give you some insight, a window into, to the way that I feel, when I’m feeling on you. My thoughts as you do all the things that you do, and how your mere presence can improve my mood.
The touch of your skin, so soft and so smooth, immediately sets all my thoughts on the move. Progression from my soft and comfortable groove, to hot and excited, my dick’s hard and BOOM
We’re off to the races, I feel so alive! A second to breathe, then I race down your thighs. My thoughts at this time are admittedly vile, I wanna fuck now and not stop ‘till you cry.
But after I think, as you lay by my side, that I couldn’t have asked for a more perfect ride. Day in—and night out—with you by my side; my lover, my goddess, my sex toy, my bride.
I can’t help but think, as I ponder our love, that we are so blessed, from inside and above. The way that your body fits mine like a glove, sets my mind to spinning, I reel with thoughts of…
Your body, our passion, your sex and our love. Our time spent together seems sent from above. So pure and so precious yet filled with thoughts of, the hottest and nastiest, sexiest love!
Besides thoughts of loving (which I must admit, take up a good portion when thinking a bit), I can’t help but think of the way that you sit with our goombas, the joy on your face plainly writ.
My heart starts to swell up, the joy is legit. There’s nothing more special or precious to it, than the feeling I’m granted whenever I get, to be with my family, a bliss that won’t quit.
But back to my baby, the queen of the hour. My succulent, beautiful, delicate flower. The woman—the only one—who holds the power, to influence my mood (whether happy or dour).
But even at times when the mood has turned sour, and beneath the weight of her anger I cower, I know that it won’t last that long because our, love is the strongest, most beautiful flower.
A flower that blooms with the passing of time, that each day gets sweeter inside of my mind. Yet all flowers wilt when compared to my bride, mere candles compared to her brilliance of mind…
…the depth of her spirit, her beauty divine, her ageless persona much finer than wine; her aura, her presence, her passion, her drive. I pray that our sprits entwine for all time.
More often I think of our spirits this way. Moreover I realize every day, “I’ll do it tomorrow” cannot be the way. We need to live life to the fullest. Today.
But what does that mean? Should we go away? Should we practice yoga or meditate, pray? To find inspiration outside the mundane? Or embrace that mundane and fuck what they say?
For what is mundane when it’s me and my bay? Togetherness, both mind and body at play? Happiness, laughter and family? Hey—if this is mundane then I’ll take it all day.
‘Cause family is happiness, wouldn’t you say? Regardless of locale, at home or away. Together with you, and Big A/Litle A, that’s home to me, and that’s where I will stay.