Transfering

''I dont believe in energy transfer 
and the like bullshit'',
he tells her.

The next moment he puts his palm
on her forehead
doing energy transfer.

She senses it.
Smiles.
She likes that particular brand
of energy.
Strong and calm.
Her favorite flavor.

''We are communicating vessels after all'', 
she tells herself.

Countryside Chapels

''Let's drive down this road'',
 he points at a small winding dirt road,
lost in the woods.

She hesitates. 
It's her homeplace,
 but she hasn't been there before, 
has no idea where it is leading up to.

''Οk, let's go''.

Just a dirt road.
Among fir trees.
Late spring
but so windy.
She likes it being there
of all places with him.
She likes his driving.
His calmness matching the serene countryside.
He is always calm,
except when he gets mad.

Winding further down that road,
descending, 
ascending
and it occurs to her it doesn't matter 
whether they reach a destination.
Anywhere is great 
so long as they are together.

Driving, driving down that dirt road.
Idyllic woods scenery.
Then they see it
That lonely little church
perched up on a hill.
''Countryside chapels'', 
they are called here,
varying in size and architecture
scattered all over roads, highways and village squares .

They arrive on that hilltop.
Breathtaking view beneath their feet.
''Please park the car a bit closer to  the churchyard,''
she pleads.
Too near the edge of the cliff,
it makes her nervous.

But then,
it's lovemaking time
in that car of his
overloaded with love and lust
parked outside a country chapel
overlooking the green valley.
And her nervousness
turns into that cozy feeling
of hotness rising, building up
in waves and cascades.

It's windy and the sky is getting darker
and it's drizzling
when they are finally headed home
car stereo blasting one of his favorite songs
he'd like to share with her.

It's moving.
The song,
the silent road
lit by the car headlights
that blissful feeling of contentment
in this moment they are sharing

Is there a thing such as
bliss overload?

Our Story

''What shall I be writing about today''?
she asks him.

She loves it when he gets to see her story
 before anyone else does.
She imagines him reading it and reliving their moment,
the one she's writing about.

''Did I render it correctly?'' she asks him.
''Perfectly'', he reassures her.

''C' mon, write one yourself,''she urges him.
''One written from your own point of you,
your own vantage point, ok?''

''No'', he says.
''I love your rendition of our story.'' 
''Pitch perfect. Beautiful.''
''Straight from your heart''
''I wouldn't change a thing''.

And that's about 
the sweetest thing
a man could say to his lover
who is writing their own love story.. 

I Shall Eat

''Why is it that I can't seem 
to get enough of you?
Ever?''

She is asking in earnest
 and expecting an answer. 
She trully believes
 he might have a clue.

''Why can't I get enough of you
 in the physical?
Like, even when I'm full,
 I still wonna have some more?
Have I turned into a greedy bitch, or what''

''Don't know'', he laughs.
''But there is a greek saying 
that goes
'when there is food offered , eat it.
when there is a beating up , beat it'

''Eating it is then'', she declares.

And digs in

That Square

''I'm warning you'', she tells him over the phone.

''We're gonna be holding hands tomorrow. 
And kissing in public,
'tis the right city for public displays of affection''
''Downtown?'' he asks.
She can sense a smile in his voice.
''Yes. You'd better get used to the idea''.

Then the next day he's waiting for her 
at that picturesque historical square
bearing the name of an ancient philosopher
on the seafront, under those beautiful arches.
Early morning, 
the city awakes
to a cloudy, gloomy sky.

She is late,
or maybe she isn't,
she's just so eager to see him.
Missed him. 
It's been almost two weeks.
She's in the upper part of the street
leading to the square,
she's just gotten off the bus.
God, how she missed him.
Eagerness and happy anrticipation
swelling in her chest, 
she starts running towards the seafront
towards him, waiting for her.

Cheeks flashed
-it's still cold-
she's running  
among empty cafes and tavernas
lining up the side of the square.

There he is, smiling 
and she can sense his smile
even before she sees it
and she almost throws herself at him
kissing him
and now he is laughing:
''Judging by the way you ran,
that passer by thought you were about to attack me,
you should see the look on his face''
''Told you to get used to public displays of affection'',
she retorts, face burried in his collar,
getting quick whiffs of his beloved smell.

She can sense his joy too.

What a glorious feeling,
to be your lover's pride and joy....

In Full Bloom

''That's the place'', he says
 pulling the car over to a litttle sideway.
''Nice and cozy here''.

Early spring.
The heating on
inside his car
their breaths and desire 
keeping it nice and warm.
And soothing, too

Dusk time,
beautiful, soft magenta and purple colours 
of a heart-warming sunset
dying the country sky,
to their right green sloping hills
dotted with villas or little country houses
to the left a small country road
with the occasional lights of a car
interrupting the falling darkness.

His mouth, his teeth, his breathing
so close to her ear
as he lowers himself ontο her
''my little foxy...''

She engulfs herself into his energy
enjoying the moment
rises with the familiar wave
of those love-induced, passion-lit,
spine-quivering highs of hers,
and as she is slowly coming down from her peak
she turns her head and sees it:

they are parked under a beautiful tree
in full bloom
a magnificent canopy of white flowers
hovering over the car
white cascades of (plum?) blossoms
framing the windows all around them
like a joyous statement
punctuating their lovemaking

His breathing still in her neck
his body lightly draped over hers
and the stars already visible
through the branches of that gorgeous tree
ladden with white, white blossoms

'I love being a country girl'', she reminds herself

Bite Me To The End Of Love

'I bite, '' she says.
''I know''.

She doesn't ask how he knows.
Because he is the only one
who doesn't mind
her biting.

Biting.
Deliscious yummy bites, 
sensual
arousing
quick ones
attack-and-go ones
of the type that won't leave you a mark
but still strong enough for her to enjoy 
and for him to feel.

“The impulse to bite is also a part of the tactile element which lies at the origin of kissing.
The heroine of Kleist’s Penthesilea remarks: ‘Kissing (Küsse) rhymes with biting (Bisse), and one who loves with the whole heart may easily confound the two”.

Biting is like kissing.

Only more spirited

First Times

'Why do I trust this man so much'?
she wonders.

She has every reason in the world not to.
God, yes, she does
have so many reasons not to
when they first met.
But still she trusts him.
Ever since she first set eyes on him,
her instinctual reaction was,
'I trust you'.

She thought it was because
they shared this deep connection
months before 
they had ever been sexual with each other.
This unshakable certainty
 of feeling completely safe.


Their first lovemaking time
her body and heart opens
spontaneously
in ways that had never happened before.
Her body and heart
opening into surrender.
It was as if her body knew something
that she hadn't realised yet.

He felt her surrender,
her trust,
her openness,
and he responded 
by penetrating her physically and spiritually
more deeply
with his energy, 
with his body, 
with his heart.

Αmazing Grace

Haze....

In a haze of pleasure

no other word can describe the sensation

and even that

doesn't come close

to what she means to describe 

First night

their night

in that homely room appartment

up the second floor

of a small village house

so much cozier than an impersonal hotel room

so thoughtful of him

to arrange it this way

She has no expectations

just trust

an overwhelming sense of trust

like, 

it's all so well arranged,

so well taken care of

she can just relax and enjoy

Neither of them in a hurry

no, not sleazingly steamy

but sizzlingly sensuous anticipation

no urgency or hurried tension

just this amazingly soothing feeling

of having done this a thousant times before

though their bodies have never actually met 

Warmth creeps onto her

as if emerging from his heart

and she can sense it

feeling ever so safe

he, in turn,  tells her

''you are so, so sweet''

somewhat taken aback by her openness

her precise responsiveness to him

as if in a slow, velvety tango

He lets her dictate the pace

nevertheless leading expertly
 lets her catch her breath for a moment

then takes her back to the dancing floor 

again and again and again and again

His stamina astounds her

-won't he ever get tired???-

she is unasccustomed

to so much loving

coupled with a whole feast of

touches

and kisses

and cuddling

and hugging

and whispers

and tenderness

and exploring fingers

and his trully gifted superpowers

like whipped cream on a yummy cake

She keeps wondering

''How could he possibly know

that I like this, and this and that and that?''

''Have I told him? Or is he just guessing?''

In a haze of pleasure

she keeps falling asleep, exhausted

only to be gently woken up again after a while

 soft whisper in her ears

''come on, doll face, hop on''

After a while

she surrenderes to the sweet feeling

of being pleasured again and again and again

of not kowing when this sex marathon will ever end

of being fed and ravished and feasted upon

of the purely physical joy of endless lovemaking

Then it's morning

and her first thought upon waking up

(after just one and a half hour of a night's sleep)

is:

''Woo hoo! We still have another day

ahead of us! 
Another day of THAT!''

A Prayer

 Lord,

help us always remember
when we first met
and the strong love and joy
that grew between us

Help us work that love
into practical solutions
so that it grows stronger every day
and nothing can keep us apart

We ask for hearts, words and deeds
full of tenderness and compassion
forgiveness and understanding,
we ask for the miracle to keep unfolding

Dear Lord,
we put our beautiful love story
into your hands..

Old Houses

They are in his car, he is driving.

Scenic landscape out of the windows.
Sunshine. And cold.
Early Spring it is.
They joy of having a whole day ahead of them.
His calm, reassuring presence.
Her eagerness and excitement.
He is up to something, she can tell.

Arriving at a small village.
He is making a phone call.
''To a friend'', he says (the little lier!)
''He has a room for us''.
A man is waiting for them.
Guides them to the place
and
she goes ''gosh!'', catching her breath.
A very old, granny house.
Like the ones she used to explore
as a kid

Abandoned-like exterior
Wooden front door
Derelict atmosphere
Long, winding interior staircase
lovely mustiness
dust and memories of times gone by
nice little rooms
granny feeling
antique lamps
whitewashed walls
paint peeling
lovely

and a cheerful lady changing sheets in the bed for them
silk ones
extra blankets
inquiring look on her face
and a few questions hovering on her lips
''This wasmy mother's-in-law house,
'needs renovation, we havent gottwen round to it'',
as she is trying to determine their status
couple? engaged? affair? fucking buddies?
she gives up, she cant tell
leaves them
murmuring about coffee and buiscuits
in the cluttered little kitchen

they jump in that little bed
to warm themselves
cold, crispy atmosphere
befitting that old home
old bedcovers
decadence view from battered shutters

heaven....
her teenage dream come true...
did he know?
or a coincidence?
who cares?

Afterwards
she's concerned about the stained bedsheets 
they are leaving behind
a few boody splotches
of her menses
''Dont worry'', he laughs
''she 'll think I ''deflowered ' you

Off they go, laughing and teasing
it's getting darker outside...

Rose Magic

A person who is in love has wings on their feet, 
she knows that
everyone knows that.

Love heals everything, empowers everything

She loves rituals .
Rituals that have meaning only for her.
Her personal brand of magic.
She wants to celebrate an anniversary of love
on a beautiful full moon week.

She chooses roses, her favorite flower.
Their love is a multisplendour thing,
so multi-colored roses it is.

She won't buy the rose, 
for love has nothing to do with buying-and-selling.
It must be found, searched for,ecountered or freely given.
She walks all over the town, outskirts and all.
Many abandoned homes with gardens
full of rosebeds
surviving as if by miracle.
She has spotted them on her daily walks.
Then there are friends' and relatives' gardens 
she 'll stop by, asking for rose blessings.

She returns home with one red, red rose
seven multi-colored ones in full bloom
and a tender rose bud.
All hand-picked, found or begged for.
All so fragrant and beautiful, 
you'd think you're gonna faint
just by smelling them.

Each rose stands for an aspect of their love

-Crimson-Red Rose for the physical, sexual part of their love
-White Rose for the pure, unconditional, selfless love
-Pink Rose for the romantic, tender, youthful, cherished love
-Violet-purple Rose for spiritual communion of soul love
(a rare thing that emits the headiest fragrance of them all)
-Magenta Rose for passion, empowerment and freedom
-Orange Rose for joy, exuberance, festivity and lightheartedness
-Yellow Rose for deeper understanding, companionship, frendship
and a small rose bud so that love is always new and budding

She boils the petals of the red one
mixes them with honey and some brandy
makes herself a deliscious rose tea
puts the rest of the roses in a crystal bowl
She drinks to their loving
his and hers

Blessed be the love that stands the test of time.....

Back and Forth....

''How long will you be staying?''

She always asks that.
It goes like this:

-''What are you doing tomorrow ?''
-''Nothing much. Why?''
-''Because I thought I'd be coming over, can you...???''
-Yaaaaaaayyyyyyyy! How long will you be staying?''
Answers vary:
-''Three days'' or ''three hours'' or ''just for today''

The three hours thing makes her weep.
Secretly.
With gratitude.

Realizing he goes to all that trouble, 
expenses
time he cannot afford
planning
sometimes even scheming
and plotting
just to come to her,
 just for a few hours
just to hold her
make love to her
fill them both up
with stars and stardust after he leaves again,

to beam himself to her place
as if by magic,
except this kind of magic utilises 
his own exhaustion
 at the end of the day.

She weeps secret tears
of gratitude
for his thoughtfulness
tenderness
and chivalry 
at doing this for her
and not the other way round...

Her archangel of lust
beaming himself to her
for three hours of bliss....

How do you combine two different worlds?
Totally different worlds?
You don't.
You just beam yourself there
loving all the way
back and forth...

Unexpected Bonus

Stressed 
she was back then
extremely low in life energy
her energy system on the verge of colapse
accident prone, 
in fact
alternating between stressed and lethargic
desperate..

There was no way out of her prison
except..
except for her to find something to love
and be loved back
something she deemed worthy
in essence, the only solution would be 
to be focusing her mind on something positive
and powerful enough to cause the transformation.
Love was the name.

He observed her from afar
tried to help in the abstract
didnt work..
she needed the tangible thing
the verification of another human being
in flesh and blood
caring...

So he took a deep breath and approached.

They created a strong vortex of love energy
that slowly started healing her
energising her
rejuvenating her
uplifting first her body
then her heart and mind.

then the unexpected bonus:

it worked both ways
empowering him too
filling his cup of joy too...
their vortex of love
the one they were lost in
hiding from the world
and finding their true selves

Moments

Moments...

Him, ordering a second cup of hot chocolate
with extra whipped cream on top for her
on their first official date....
her, hungrily diving for his dick
as soon as she first set eyes on it
in all its erect glory....

Him, standing up in front of the fireplace
feeding the log fire on that cabin
flames dancing happily....
her, kicking off her high heel shoes
and posing with him for the camera
barefoot and all airs and graces...

Both of them naked and languid 
and exhausted from too much lovemaking
in that private hot spring bath chamber.....

Him, telling her on the beach ' I've got a present for you'
then uncurling his fingers 
and showing her a little shell...
Her, telling him, half indignantly
''my energy is as strong as yours, 
even more so if I choose to!'
and both of them bursting into hysterical laughter....

Him, giving her an intense orgasm
by just caressing her hair....
Her, asking him silly questions
expecting a serious answer
as he was lying there snoring
pretending to be half asleep....

Her, making him pose naked for her camera
'but not your head, just your hot body , please'...
Him, stuffing her lace knickers in his jacket pocket
like some kind of purple trophy
after their first weekend together...

Both of their faces lighting up
like a firework-lit sky
on a national holiday night
as soon as they see each other after a few days of being apart...

His sexy smile, 
warming up every nook and corner of her heart
her eyes
welling up with tears
and him going 'I love them like this, they look star-ladden'....

Momments, 
yummy
deliscious moments
adding up
filling up their cup of joy
reminding them
what life is all about......

It Began All Wrong

''But It began all wrong, '' he thinks to himself.
''The wrong way.
''Wrong is wrong.
It started out shallow, 
almost a prank,
for fun, you know??''

Another conquest
to prove a point
as many other countles, countless times.
He felt powerful, all-omnipotent
and clever.
And invincible
By all.
By love and other nonsense.

So he realises along the way 
it's now gotten to something serious. 
Palpable. 
Cherished by both.

Who did it?
Her yearning?
Or his secret longing?
Who cares?
All it matters is, it's here now.

He realises and tells her so,
tells her, 
so that he soothes his heart
for starting it out the wrong way.
He tells her, ''we need to talk, this is getting serious''

She looks on, wide eyed.
She knows, how could she not?
She is part of his heart now,
so of course she knows.
No need for words to come tumbling out,
she just knows what's in his heart.

He has started craving a simple and true thing
in a world full of fake,
overly complicated
overly irrelevant nonsense.
He wants s o m e t h i n g that fits.
Nicely.
Doesn't wonna hurt her.
This beautiful thing they have,
he wants it all purified.
All perfected, sparkingly clean.
Sanctified.
Dignified.


And the fact it started out all wrong
pains him.
Like a thorn in a rosy, young flesh.
It just doesn't belong there.

He wants to either put it to rights
or release the pain.
Or make everything about it perfect,
to make up for its fake beginning.

''Baby, the word doesn't work this way.
''All dolled up.
''This world we live in?
''Full of mistakes.
''Full of regrets.
''Imperfect.
''Fragile.
''Nothing fits like a glove.
''Nothing is hustle-free, 
pain-free,
wrong-free.''

''You are here
and all I need.''
''Perfection reigns only in fairy tales.''
''Gimme the raw you.
''All of it.
''Real and Raw.
''And Hurting as Hell sometimes.
''Because it's real, in the flesh.
''Imperfectly beautiful 
and so divinely perfect''

I'm done wirth fairy tales'', she says.
''Give me the real, raw thing''.

Then waits, until her message could sink in.

And keeps waiting
for imperfection to surface
and to be lovingly shared.

Loving him

Loving him

Always

Since day one

Trusting

Waiting

Dreaming

Adoring

Loving him

She is loved back

and adored

she knows it

what else is there after all?

nothing

and everything

life is vast

and beautiful

and a great big adventure

so she enjoys the ride

in his arms

Eye Poetry

''What's the first thing you noticed about me?''
''Your eyes. You?''
''Your eyes...''

Lost in his eyes, she is.
Unspeakably attractive.
Radiating warmth, interest, amusement.
Kind eyes.
Extremely intelligent eyes.
Loving eyes.
Lying eyes (sometimes)
Calm eyes
Penetrating eyes, reading souls
Sexy and serious eyes
Reliable, trustworthy eyes
Wide-eyes
Eyes that know how to hide or take on roles
Naughty, playful eyes
Adoring eyes
Compassionaste, so compassionate eyes
Smiling eyes
Flirty eyes

His eyes.

'Your eyes are strange', she tells him.
Not because they keep changing.
But because they are so intense,
no matter what expression they are wearing.'

First time one sees those eyes, 
one feels like stepping back.
Like,wow, this is too much.
Too much of himself 
piercing into your soul.
And it catches you unawares
and you feel a bit like gasping.
Too intense. Way too intense.

Then, you exhale and begin to enjoy it

Σκυψε Ευλογημενη

''Quick, duck down!'' 
He pushed her head down at the right fraction of the second before they were spotted.

''Come up now,'' he said, ''it's over.''
And they start laughing hysterically 
at the absurdness of it.
''What says you?'' he asks.
''One. Your reflexes are veeery good'', she smiles.
''Two. You kept reassuring me, 'dont worry, dont worry
we weren't spotted' the whole time. That's very sweet.
And you operate well under stress.
I love you''

He kisses her goodbye. 
So much for ducking down in the first place!
And as he revs up, windows rolled down, 
he makes the ducking movement with his hand
and the hysteric laughters go on.
Filling that small town
with the merriment of love

Love Can Heal All Wounds

changing seasons
again

she met him in glorious autumn
her favorite season
autumn is about love, dude
about snuggling and cuddling
that's why

a year gone
four seasons gone
still in love
still in tenderness
still in amazing body bliss

slow kisses and cinnamon aromas
touching and intimating secrets
happy driving and old 14th century churches
fluffy dogs and everyday life caring
relaxing massages and meaningful nicknames
staring deep into dark or blue eyes
heavenly smells and salty tears of gratitude
deep,husky whispers in the ear
strong arms (the way she likes it)
and very, very soft skin ( the way he loves it)
6 hungry puppies playing in the mountain mist
in front of the most picturesquecafe ever
and expensive gift perfumes
blond hair pulled playfully
and hot spring water cuddles
online rambles
and hot sex dates
white, knitted granma heirloom bedcovers
spread over pristine bedsheets
wine and whisky and cupcakes
cigarette smoke and hair extensions
dirty little text messages
and naughty games of love
sighs of exstasy and giggles of merriment
words of adoration and prayers for strength
his and her teardrops combined in a rare shampagne of emotion
poems and stories and pictures and quotes
written and qyoted, pregnant in meaning
his adoration, her admiration
his strength imparting,her loving beyond limits


Their private world....

For verily,
Love and Fucking combined
CAN  heal all wounds

Listening

''I fell in love with you by listening to you listening to me'', she says.

Being heard and understood 
at the deepest level possible
feeling him staring directly into her soul
his entire attention focused on her
listening
calmly
attentively
understanding
sympathising
soothing her raw wounds
connecting his understanding to her soul
loving what he sees there
giving her the gift of his silent perspective of her
reflecting her emotions into the mirror of his tenderness.

After each listening session 
her body relaxes 
her mind stops its internal tiresome chatter
a deep sense of calm and content 
descending on her being
her like a child sang to sleep
by an ancient lullaby
sinking into an even deeper state of gratitude.

And feeling drawn to him a thousant times more