Ode To The Maker of The Keeper

Ode To The Maker of The Keeper

A Poem by R. L. Ives
"

Not everything is always as it seems

"
As she lies here before him
his pulse quickens ever so slightly.
Oh what a sight to behold.
Oh what rapture this brings.
He closes his eyes for a moment, catching his breath,
This maker of the keeper.

A skilled and tender hand
fondles and strokes the object of his affection.
Admiring this porc'line face,
Who's age is shown gracefully with the passage of time.
Long, sleek arms that move with a gentle motion.
Eyes of crystal so clear as to almost afford a momentary glimpse
Into the inner workings of her mind.

Overcome with desire to remove gold spun cloak,
his mind helpless against images dancing seductively
to the quickening rhythm pulsing through his veins,
he gently caresses the tips of his fingers over sleek smooth skin.
Teasing, manipulating until he frees that which hides her soul,
etched with the language he knows.

His gaze once again comes to rest upon her
while a single
drop
of love
escapes its bounds,
running its course over weathered cheek,
painted with a crimson blush.
The beauty that lies before him is his alone,
This maker of the keeper.

For a moment he remains motionless,
Listening to her heartbeat tapping out a steady melody,
bringing to mind stiletto heels
Tic-tacking on the pavement as she strolls along side him,
He holds her hands in his to warm them, moving together as one.

Ahh, the years they have seen, she and he.
Safe in the comfort that is born through love on the passage of time.

His intoxication is complete though never completely satisfied,
For he can never truly get his fill of her loveliness.
Finally, with an almost imperceptible sigh
and one last gentle stroke of his thumb
he returns her soul to its hiding place
under gold spun cloak
and smiles his knowing smile,
this maker of the keeper.








© 2013 R. L. Ives


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Featured Review

honestly, the first line confused me..."placing her upon his dias"...sorry, i know not what "dias" is. and from that point i think the meaning of this piece, although wonderfully thought out and cleverly written , is lost in that simple word which eludes my imagination. i could tell you where my mind takes me if i replace that single word with others and that would explain the mature rating admirably, but the body of the writing is not at all offensive, which leads to other imaginings. it isn't often that the intended meaning of a write eludes me , but this one did with one word...which, i must confess, still has me wondering. this is totally erotic if it is what i think it might be.. i still give this a very high score, because it is superb writing...clear up this tiny mystery please

Posted 11 Years Ago


1 of 1 people found this review constructive.

R. L. Ives

11 Years Ago

Well, my lesson of the day - don't assume I know what a word means or how it is spelled just because.. read more



Reviews

honestly, the first line confused me..."placing her upon his dias"...sorry, i know not what "dias" is. and from that point i think the meaning of this piece, although wonderfully thought out and cleverly written , is lost in that simple word which eludes my imagination. i could tell you where my mind takes me if i replace that single word with others and that would explain the mature rating admirably, but the body of the writing is not at all offensive, which leads to other imaginings. it isn't often that the intended meaning of a write eludes me , but this one did with one word...which, i must confess, still has me wondering. this is totally erotic if it is what i think it might be.. i still give this a very high score, because it is superb writing...clear up this tiny mystery please

Posted 11 Years Ago


1 of 1 people found this review constructive.

R. L. Ives

11 Years Ago

Well, my lesson of the day - don't assume I know what a word means or how it is spelled just because.. read more

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Added on March 6, 2013
Last Updated on March 8, 2013

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R. L. Ives
R. L. Ives

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After 371 days living through the hell of my husband’s ALS diagnosis and death, I feel like I’m left without form more..

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A Poem by R. L. Ives