Soul engineer

Fix your body
Against my heart,
Let your hands wander
Writing passion
With thoughts of art.
Design my dreams
Caress my flaws,
Let my body sync
In time with yours.
Leave your love
Pressed on my lips,
Thrust your desire
Through my hips.
Breathe in my hope
Structure my fears,
Leave your mark
As my soul engineer.

via Soul engineer

About TheDarkestFairytale

Hello Thank you for reading. If you would like to contact me please email thedarkest-fairytale@hotmail.com
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5 Responses to Soul engineer

  1. That need to establish that emotional connection, physical connection with another person…

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Pingback: Afford yourself romance, indulge in reading “Soul engineer” – WhimSickle

  3. Pete says:

    I couldn’t help but share this on my blog and on Twitter @blogtweeta. I have such an appreciation for soul-stirring word art.

    Liked by 1 person

  4. Pete says:

    I live in Los Angeles. To engineer soulz.

    Never to be improper, or on a wrong track, or be misrepresented in thought, this route march by angels takes flight into a fantasy world of the purest, most appropriate thought, as purity isn’t defiled. With crystal clarity and as a rainbow gushing from an overflowing heart, let me spill my mind onto your lap today, for you to dispose of it as you best please.

    Not than one in California but the one on Twitter, as there is a cyber City of Angels.

    Angels that wake me in the morning with dollops of goodwill and love, as in the opposite of hate.

    My coffee comes from a shy, confident smile with almond eyes. She always makes my day and she sees life from other angles, maybe more beautiful ones, with tongue in the cheek. And that smile sometimes is an innocently naughty one. Thirty years ago, I would have tried to get her number, so that I could invite her to coffee to lure her into my life. I still think the coffee will be great, yet no more luring. That’s not what she’s here for, rather just to bring her beautiful mind to the communal campfire. The mere thought of her, a caress of her soul would stir, captivate the heart.

    And then there is that El Angel, one with the beautifulmost mind and, if her profile pic is legit, one with chestnut hair and blue eye that could slowly melt a glacier. A lady with a warm heart, a poetic mind and a carressable heart, the kind you would want to hold close, never to let go. She would be your symphony, your ballad and your limerick. Putting her name on your lips could blister them, if you whispered very closely. Also she would have warranted a great measure of attention thirty years ago, should she have lived then, If only I could be a real poet that could let the well of beautiful thoughts overflow into her silken soul. My command of English is in deficit, keeping me from saying what the heart dictates in its own secret language. What does it say?

    (My head is spinning already.)

    And then there is this woman who had discovered fire. She is a druid that mixes things in jars and dishes and then paints that soluble solutions to our hearts. She goes by a mountain to pick herbs, then by the restless, calming lake to get wave upon wave of inspiration, before shouting words of encouragement, inspiration and love from the wild horses galloping through the heart, written into the DNA of the marrow in the bones on the grid. As the marrow in my bones tell me of an ancient tragedy, a comedy of circumstance, that had secured her adventurous heart for times to come. A crystal clear, unpolluted soul bubbling spirit, like Helen the Conqueror – da vat hy

    Let’s honour the memory of El Sis, the guardian angel that guides weary souls Home to new pastures, comforting their last stay on the esoteric railway platform, there final lay-over at the Spirit Port, so that they can slip away softly into eternity, to live on. Our communal elder sister that checks if we brushed our minds and combed our tongues before we come out to tweet street. Yeah, down where wooden boats rock and sway, she’d be called Catch of the Day, don’t let this one get away!

    Yes, we are the dwarves where a Snow White roams, or where she shellz her bellz, and where Lady Zamar can sing about hearts colliding, converging into a deep, slow river of love that will live on long after the flesh had departed, as love is eternal, it is as beautiful as the Spirit that had woven it. As Spirit is woven of Love.

    Love doesn’t happen on picnic blankets or between silken sheets but in an untouchable intimacy deep in the spirit chambers of the heart. As love is spiritual.

    Yes, it is their memory, a legacy, that I had defended through the sights of my steely black assault rifle. These angels makes my sacrifice in a war of bush and dust and corporate battles of deceit and distrust all more worth the while. As for my Angels, I will slay dragons and walk through fire, as my spirit is fire-proofed.

    Do I need to say it out loud, shout from the mountain tops – hell, yeah, I TRULY LOVE MY SWEETEST ANGELS HERE! And I want to meet up with you in the Sky when we go to live with Love Himself.

    Like

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