It was strange
uncharacteristically quiet
for these usually busy Saturday streets
Despite the late hour
the night seemed bright
with the light of the full moon.
It may have been the full moon
it may have been
my body's desire
for the warmth of someone beside me
as the cold air rushed through my window
but laying there
I began to think of you
I absentmindedly
brushed my fingertips
over the hilly expanse of my body
leaving mountain peaks
hard in their wake
from the cool breeze.
I felt a shiver run down
sending a rush of warmth
between my legs
I smiled thinking of what you could be doing...
I imagined you
out probably with your girl
catching a glimpse of something
or hearing a familiar soung
that reminded you of me
or simply thinking of me
because you knew deep inside
it was me you wanted to be with tonight.
I ran my hands down my stomach
leaving a trail of goosebumps
on my skin
I closed my eyes
willing my thoughts to reach you
calling out your name
as I imagined it was your hands
reaching down to my awaiting flower
my fingers softly brshed
over soft petals
wet and warm
like the wake of the dawn
I let out a soft moan
begging for more
but wanting it to be you
wanting your hands
your fingers
your tounge
to be exploring my body...
just the way you know I like it.
I moaned as I brought myself closer
whispering your name
between each breath
I imagined us
back on the bathroom floor
cold tiles sticking to my naked back
you filling me deep inside...
lost in our unrestrained desire.
My hips rocked to meet my fingers
driving me to the edge.
In my mind
we were back in my room
she was watching
watching you take me
fuck me
make love to me
like only you can do with me
I dug my nails into your back
as I looked over your shoulders at her
you screamed my name
as you etched your signature
on my walls
she and I both knew you were mine.
I couldn't hold back any longer
my body shook
as I road the sudden wave of pleasure.
Your name escaped my lips once more ....
and...
my cell phone rang...
my lips curled up in a mischievous smile
as I answered...
"I was just thinking of you".
©R.Bello 2009
Tuesday, May 26, 2009
He Is My Favorite Song
I woke up
Late morning
Sun blazing in through the window
Light glistened off
The drops of sweat
Still trickling down my skin
I heard your footsteps
and already I felt
your presence
like recognizing the melody
the moment
the first beat drops.
My heart kept its rapid pace
breathless still
from our nocturnal encounter.
The imprint
where you once laid
Fresh on satin sheets
Still warm to the touch.
I still could feel your warmth
Pressed against each curve of my body
As I swayed my hips to your rhythm.
Was more aware now of
Pulsating muscles contracting
Reaching out to be filled again.
I should have been ashamed perhaps
Body yearning for you like this
when I knew nothing but your name.
Nothing but a brief introduction
And I already felt
the deep base of your voice
Resounding within each empty hollow
Echoed inside me
sending me into
Auditory spasms.
What history I was privy to
I came to learn from your lyrics
Each line painting pictures
Of all the wondrous things
You have seen and sensed
In your world.
Every honest moment of pain
Each triumphant celebration of joy
All exposed in the instant
You invaded my soul.
Of course
All I have is
your voice in my head
And a picture of you
lodged in my memory
Because we have never
Occupied space
in such close proximity.
But your music
still resonates in my ears
My body still feels your rhythm
I have become acquainted
with the nuances
Of each movement like
Memorizing every word to the track
And each morning it is your voice I hear
whisper my name over and over
As I keep you mentally on repeat.
©R.Bello 2009
Late morning
Sun blazing in through the window
Light glistened off
The drops of sweat
Still trickling down my skin
I heard your footsteps
and already I felt
your presence
like recognizing the melody
the moment
the first beat drops.
My heart kept its rapid pace
breathless still
from our nocturnal encounter.
The imprint
where you once laid
Fresh on satin sheets
Still warm to the touch.
I still could feel your warmth
Pressed against each curve of my body
As I swayed my hips to your rhythm.
Was more aware now of
Pulsating muscles contracting
Reaching out to be filled again.
I should have been ashamed perhaps
Body yearning for you like this
when I knew nothing but your name.
Nothing but a brief introduction
And I already felt
the deep base of your voice
Resounding within each empty hollow
Echoed inside me
sending me into
Auditory spasms.
What history I was privy to
I came to learn from your lyrics
Each line painting pictures
Of all the wondrous things
You have seen and sensed
In your world.
Every honest moment of pain
Each triumphant celebration of joy
All exposed in the instant
You invaded my soul.
Of course
All I have is
your voice in my head
And a picture of you
lodged in my memory
Because we have never
Occupied space
in such close proximity.
But your music
still resonates in my ears
My body still feels your rhythm
I have become acquainted
with the nuances
Of each movement like
Memorizing every word to the track
And each morning it is your voice I hear
whisper my name over and over
As I keep you mentally on repeat.
©R.Bello 2009
Monday, May 18, 2009
Home
It was 3 in the morning
and I, droopy eyed,
from sleepless nights,
stared at the same empty page.
In my mind swirled images
of bodies intertwined
hips easing to a slow grind
deep, low moans
like those of a jazz man's bass.
Bodies created music
I've never heard before,
each heartbeat
reverberating throughout my body
setting the page
to the melody of an unwritten song.
The blank pages taunted me
as I was sure I tasted
rich dark chocolate on my lips
after leaving strawberry kisses
on mocha skin.
I imagined me laid out
like a buffet of international delicacies;
try a little bit of this
a little bit of that
even things never tried before.
And still no words
could begin to describe
the sights, sounds, tastes,
all unfamiliar
yet conured up in my fantasies.
Instead, the black pages
soon filled up with memories
of Sunday mornings
room glowing with the warm sunlight
of long summer days.
Coco Classicos
Ana Gabriel's raspy voice
a short distance away.
A car alarm, the latest reggaeton,
the occasional 'que lo que'
added to the soundtrack;
the title track
the familiar rocking
of mattress springs,
headboard against the wall
setting the pace like conga beats.
The words smelled of
salchichon y queso frito
sizzling on a pan
un plato de mangu
washed down with morir soñando
Words told of a love
like mamí's sanchocho
same recipe
but each time
better than the last.
See I fantasized of a love
that was out of this world
yet a love that existed
only in my mind.
So my heart refused
to allow my mind
to tell the page lies.
My mind wanted to escape
disappear to a foreign place
where a different love was possible.
But my ehart wanted to stay
where it knew the faces, the places,
be able to map out
each birthmark, each scar
each bruise
like they were your old stompin' grounds.
My mind conjured up images
of something new
but the pages filled with
words that spoke only truth:
that love with you will always be,
because your love is home.
©R.Bello 4/1/09
and I, droopy eyed,
from sleepless nights,
stared at the same empty page.
In my mind swirled images
of bodies intertwined
hips easing to a slow grind
deep, low moans
like those of a jazz man's bass.
Bodies created music
I've never heard before,
each heartbeat
reverberating throughout my body
setting the page
to the melody of an unwritten song.
The blank pages taunted me
as I was sure I tasted
rich dark chocolate on my lips
after leaving strawberry kisses
on mocha skin.
I imagined me laid out
like a buffet of international delicacies;
try a little bit of this
a little bit of that
even things never tried before.
And still no words
could begin to describe
the sights, sounds, tastes,
all unfamiliar
yet conured up in my fantasies.
Instead, the black pages
soon filled up with memories
of Sunday mornings
room glowing with the warm sunlight
of long summer days.
Coco Classicos
Ana Gabriel's raspy voice
a short distance away.
A car alarm, the latest reggaeton,
the occasional 'que lo que'
added to the soundtrack;
the title track
the familiar rocking
of mattress springs,
headboard against the wall
setting the pace like conga beats.
The words smelled of
salchichon y queso frito
sizzling on a pan
un plato de mangu
washed down with morir soñando
Words told of a love
like mamí's sanchocho
same recipe
but each time
better than the last.
See I fantasized of a love
that was out of this world
yet a love that existed
only in my mind.
So my heart refused
to allow my mind
to tell the page lies.
My mind wanted to escape
disappear to a foreign place
where a different love was possible.
But my ehart wanted to stay
where it knew the faces, the places,
be able to map out
each birthmark, each scar
each bruise
like they were your old stompin' grounds.
My mind conjured up images
of something new
but the pages filled with
words that spoke only truth:
that love with you will always be,
because your love is home.
©R.Bello 4/1/09
Bruises Only Last So Long (Kind of Miss You)
I stood as the door closed
behind your departure
and for the first time
in over four years of the usual routine,
out of town trips-
weeks, months at a time-
I missed you.
The kind of miss you
where I found myself
crying myself to sleep that night
wishing your warm body
laid beside me.
The kind of miss you
where I wish days would be shorter
and tours would end
just a little bit earlier
simply so I could see your smile.
The kind of miss you
that has me thinking
that what I feel for you
has reached a whole new level
because for the first time
in over four years
the images conjured up
in my words
are no longer of him
or any other past love...
but of you.
The kind of miss you
that has me wishing
the bruise you left on my arm
after pinning m down
pressing your body into mine
fighting to muffle the moans
by biting your teeth
into my skin
as the love you have for me
pulsated throughout your body....
wishing that that mark
you left behind before you left
would not fade.
But bruises only last so long
and what evidence
you had left of that night
is now gone...
which means you've been gone
far too long.
© R.Bello 1/7/09
behind your departure
and for the first time
in over four years of the usual routine,
out of town trips-
weeks, months at a time-
I missed you.
The kind of miss you
where I found myself
crying myself to sleep that night
wishing your warm body
laid beside me.
The kind of miss you
where I wish days would be shorter
and tours would end
just a little bit earlier
simply so I could see your smile.
The kind of miss you
that has me thinking
that what I feel for you
has reached a whole new level
because for the first time
in over four years
the images conjured up
in my words
are no longer of him
or any other past love...
but of you.
The kind of miss you
that has me wishing
the bruise you left on my arm
after pinning m down
pressing your body into mine
fighting to muffle the moans
by biting your teeth
into my skin
as the love you have for me
pulsated throughout your body....
wishing that that mark
you left behind before you left
would not fade.
But bruises only last so long
and what evidence
you had left of that night
is now gone...
which means you've been gone
far too long.
© R.Bello 1/7/09
Her Name is Hope
I wrote this a while back, but have never read it on stage.
I had a dream last night
Not very different
from dreams I've had before.
Eyes green like her mother's
skin a golden red caramel...
daddy's Cherokee blood.
Her smile
enough to light up the room
make us forget that
daddy is gone weeks at a time,
make us remember the love
in which she was conceived.
We were happy,
him and I and our baby girl.
I've had dreams like this before
Not the childhood dreams
of little girls:
Princess weddings and little babies.
I never was that girl...
until I met you.
William and Makayla
middle names after
mom and dad.
But this fantasy
was so much more removed
from reality
than my dream last night.
I no longer dream of them
and the possibility they represent
of you one day having loved me.
And so now I dream of her
and everything in her
that reminds me of him.
She is the love that exists
between he and I
even if she were never
to become reality.
She is these words
that no longer speak your name
lingering in memories of you.
She is this poem
that no longer is dedicated
to the possibilities of a distant past
but the hope for a better love.
© R.Bello 12/16/08
I had a dream last night
Not very different
from dreams I've had before.
Eyes green like her mother's
skin a golden red caramel...
daddy's Cherokee blood.
Her smile
enough to light up the room
make us forget that
daddy is gone weeks at a time,
make us remember the love
in which she was conceived.
We were happy,
him and I and our baby girl.
I've had dreams like this before
Not the childhood dreams
of little girls:
Princess weddings and little babies.
I never was that girl...
until I met you.
William and Makayla
middle names after
mom and dad.
But this fantasy
was so much more removed
from reality
than my dream last night.
I no longer dream of them
and the possibility they represent
of you one day having loved me.
And so now I dream of her
and everything in her
that reminds me of him.
She is the love that exists
between he and I
even if she were never
to become reality.
She is these words
that no longer speak your name
lingering in memories of you.
She is this poem
that no longer is dedicated
to the possibilities of a distant past
but the hope for a better love.
© R.Bello 12/16/08
Dedication Fallen to Deaf Ears
**I've been asked to post some of the poems I have read at several open mics. It's a bit of something different. Any comments, feedback, etc. of any posts on this blog is appreciated. Enjoy! ~D**
I wanted to dedicate a poem to you
I wanted to be reminded of the reason
I once smiled.
I wanted to reminisce in these words
of long nights on the phone,
the sweet silence only interrupted
by the sound of your soft moans.
I wanted to recall a time
when the world was falling apart around me
but somehow, just loving you
held everything in place.
I wanted to dedicate a poem to you.
Remind you of cool Sunday mornings in Octover
images of our bodies meeting for the first time
conjured up in each line.
I wanted to feel,
as the pen touched the page,
your fingertips as they traced lines
from my lips, to my navel, down to my thighs...
Have you remember icy February nights,
your body pressing my back down
on cold bathroom tiles,
legs wrapped around your waist,
the drop of the faucet
setting the pace
of the movement of our hips.
I wanted to dedicate a poem to you
because this, and every piece before it
was inspired by you.
Because it is through these words that
I found reason to love life
reason to look forward to another day,
a way to escape from the reality I lived in
and into your arms
even though you were miles away.
Because you encouraged me
to rekindle the passion I once had
for the words that suddenly stopped flowing
from my mind to the page.
And yet, for every sweet word I wish to say
I am simply reminded of the reason
this is the first time
I've been able to write in years.
As my world fall apart,
you were no longer there
to hold it together.
I was faced with the reality
that Sunday mornings ran into Sunday nights
when you grew cold and distant.
February night are simply cold
with the lack of your presence,
and the constant drip,
simply echoed into empty space.
I wanted to dedicate a poem to you...
because for a moment,
with allr eason out the door,
I felt that light burn inside me,
the one only you can ignite.
But in this dim lit room,
amongst the crowd,
the one person I wanted to see
is the one who is not here tonight.
©R.Bello 12/3/08
I wanted to dedicate a poem to you
I wanted to be reminded of the reason
I once smiled.
I wanted to reminisce in these words
of long nights on the phone,
the sweet silence only interrupted
by the sound of your soft moans.
I wanted to recall a time
when the world was falling apart around me
but somehow, just loving you
held everything in place.
I wanted to dedicate a poem to you.
Remind you of cool Sunday mornings in Octover
images of our bodies meeting for the first time
conjured up in each line.
I wanted to feel,
as the pen touched the page,
your fingertips as they traced lines
from my lips, to my navel, down to my thighs...
Have you remember icy February nights,
your body pressing my back down
on cold bathroom tiles,
legs wrapped around your waist,
the drop of the faucet
setting the pace
of the movement of our hips.
I wanted to dedicate a poem to you
because this, and every piece before it
was inspired by you.
Because it is through these words that
I found reason to love life
reason to look forward to another day,
a way to escape from the reality I lived in
and into your arms
even though you were miles away.
Because you encouraged me
to rekindle the passion I once had
for the words that suddenly stopped flowing
from my mind to the page.
And yet, for every sweet word I wish to say
I am simply reminded of the reason
this is the first time
I've been able to write in years.
As my world fall apart,
you were no longer there
to hold it together.
I was faced with the reality
that Sunday mornings ran into Sunday nights
when you grew cold and distant.
February night are simply cold
with the lack of your presence,
and the constant drip,
simply echoed into empty space.
I wanted to dedicate a poem to you...
because for a moment,
with allr eason out the door,
I felt that light burn inside me,
the one only you can ignite.
But in this dim lit room,
amongst the crowd,
the one person I wanted to see
is the one who is not here tonight.
©R.Bello 12/3/08
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