Tag Archives: patience

Eat the Daisies

The daisies with sunshine centers
Mock me no more

The voices whispering doubt
Have all been silenced

My vision no longer focused on perception
The eyes I see through are only my own

Wise to the truth my heart has always known
The stars in the sky remind me nightly

I do
I do
I do believe

The truth that was told me
Once for ever star in the heavens

Prayers to those same stars
That one day I would realize

That day has finally come
Belief and realization here at last

The hearts may now be only smiles
But smiles are so much better than tears

I do
I do
I do believe

In the prayers that were answered
And this love that fills me still

©2012 jillie


She stood at the counter
Knowing he would be home soon
Humming to herself
As she lovingly prepared their meal

Nothing extravagant
But special nonetheless
An evening to be shared

Food and drink
Soft music
Stories to be told
Stories to be heard

Brushing unruly hair back
Pouring another glass of wine
Checking the clock
Smiling to herself
Warm, homey aromas filling the kitchen

Leaning forward
Hands grasping the edge of the counter
She relaxes
Enjoying the smells of home
The taste of the wine
Gentle breeze playing in the chimes

Strong hands grasp her wrists
His body presses against her back
She jerks in surprise
Then relaxes immediately
As his scent fills her world
The warmth of his body
Igniting a fire in hers

He whispers in her ear
Words of love
He missed her
Adores her
Wants her

She smiles
Trying to turn
His grip on her unyielding
Strong and intent

He kisses her ear
Slides his hands back
Grasps her hips
Pressing himself against her
More forcefully

He kisses her neck
His breath hot on her
She shudders
A small moan
Perhaps a whimper
Escapes her

And he smiles
Knowing the need
Knowing the cure

Hands sliding up
Cupping full breasts
Thumbs brushing
Nipples straining against fabric
Aching for his touch

Kisses still hot on her neck
Soft whispers

He unbuttons her shirt
Slides it from her shoulders
Falling to the floor

Hands returning to flesh now exposed
Softly caressing her smooth belly
Working his way down
Firmly grasping the waistband
Shoving her gypsy skirt to the floor

He stands back for a moment
Drinking in the sight of her
Exposed to him
Exposed for him

He breathes hot in her ear
I see you
And you are

Pressing himself harder against her now
Kisses on her ears, neck, back
More fervent now
Fingers exploring the delicacies awaiting him
Opening her to him
Bringing her need to fever pitch

Breath coming in gasps now
Skin aching
She tears herself from his grasp
Turns to face him

Undeniable desire burning into him
Through emerald eyes gleaming with the heat
Throwing arms around his neck
Legs around his waist

She frantically devours his lips
Kissing his face, his eyes
Breathing in his warm, spicy scent
Senses near overload
She begs him with her eyes

Take me
Take me now

He carries her to the table
Spreading her before him
Tongue slowly exploring

Bringing her quickly to climax
Crying out his name
He takes her slowly
Excruciatingly to the edge

She begs him
Let me
Make me

She reaches for him
So close

She begins to tighten
Muscles beginning to lock
Back arching hard

And he stands
And walks away

Breath catching in her throat
She stops cold
Screaming from the edge
Unable to go on
Unable to go back
Unable to move

He grins wickedly at her
Over the rim of his wine glass
She pleads with him
Eyes begging
Unable to form the words
Don’t leave me here

Slowly he sheds his shirt
Pants dropping to the floor
Making his way back to her
Standing between her legs

A single fingertip tracing
A line down her stomach
Over her bellybutton
Slowly moving further down
Barely touching her aching heat
She explodes violently


All exploding from her
And then
At that exact moment
He buries himself in her
To the hilt

She explodes again
Never really stopping
Stars dance before her eyes

And beyond
She sees him
Above her


He makes love to her then

Filling her every desire
For an eternity it seems
Again and again he takes her

Over the edge
Heights unknown
Blinding ecstasy
Seemingly unending

Near the point of exhaustion now
She begs him
With emerald eyes
Velvety pink lips

Go there with me
Come with me
And he takes her

Senses reeling
Desire unrelenting
Passionate cries
Breath coming in gasps

And then
The world explodes
For them both

Time stops
Nothing exists outside
Just the one they have become


Hours later, seemingly
Consciousness returns
Breathing slowed to normal again
The gentle sound of wind chimes
Birds chittering outside the window
Warm evening sunlight bathing them
The smells of home

She smiles softly
Dinner’s ready…

© 2011 Jill Terry

In Due Time

Already past the point of redemption, he sent an email of apology to all his investors, seeking forgiveness; and while his ego tempted him to wait for that first rely, he just couldn’t bring himself to do it. He’d given the staff the weekend off and spent the next hour in silence, wandering the halls and grounds of his kingdom. When the first call came in, he was sitting on the edge of his bed, pistol in hand; the incessant ringing sounding as an alarm, echoing through the house, penetrating his soul to the very core.

He couldn’t do it. He would not spend the rest of his life in prison. There was just no other way out. And so he ran from room-to-room, turning on every light in the place, then flipped the final switch on his way out the back, lighting the entire exterior and grounds. Calmer now that his decision had been made, he walked to the water’s edge, got in the skiff and motored it to the park across the river. He stood at the end of the dock, admiring the magnificence of his creation from afar, its beauty and light filling the night as something from a fairytale.

He realized in that final painful moment, that that’s exactly what his entire life had been, nothing but a fairytale, none of it real; as he put the butt of the gun to his temple and pulled the trigger; the brilliant light from his dark deception immediately fading to black.

We met by chance, at the New Orleans Café, listening to Sleepy’s Jazz Connection on the waterfront deck. He was a charmer and struck a chord all his own, on my then too tightly wound strings. We shared a bottle of Courvoisier, and I sampled one of his Behike cigars; becoming more fascinated with each passing puff, as he explained that only four thousand of the cigars had been released for sale; having been named after the sorcerer of a pre-Columbian Taino tribe; ten boxes of which he personally owned. I was already familiar with the drink – the grande champagne of cognacs, and at $1400 a bottle, I could only imagine how many clams he’d laid down on the stogies.

He snatched up the decorative art deco bottle in one hand and held his other out to me. We walked down to the marina and he gave me a tour of his yacht. As we stood on the deck he pointed out his home on the other side of the river. I told him I knew it well; for I had watched for months as they tore down the lovely Victorian that had graced the river bank and sat nestled under the canopy of live oaks for probably hundreds of years, then replaced it with a massive Italian Palazzo that he proudly told me was called, “Tutte le mine,” whose meaning he boasted, meant “All Mine” in Italian.

He was obviously intelligent, seemingly interested in my work; and while he admittedly could do nothing to improve my standings among the literati, he was confident he could take my royalties and turn them into a fortune in no time at all. He was quite possibly the most superficial, arrogant man I had ever met; yet I partook of his offerings and slipped his business card in my back pocket as a few hours later he walked me to my car.

I stepped hesitantly into his arms when he offered them up for a hug, thanked him for enlivening my evening and turned my head when he moved in to kiss me. He winked and told me he dug my spirit. I laughed and told him he knew nothing of my spirit. This only intrigued him further.

After a few weeks of unreturned phone calls he finally acquiesced. I thought about him every now and again, as I drove over the bridge that spanned the river and led to my own home, nestled deep in those same woods, only no where he would care to venture; his mansion perfectly viewed from the bridge, the largest by far. More than once I sat on the deck of the New Orleans café, dining alone, while gazing out across the water, as the crowd of people gathered at his Palazzo, for another seemingly grande affair. I never entertained the idea of seeing him again, though at one point, when my royalties were particularly paltry, I briefly considered contacting his investment firm.

And while the empty bottle of Courvoisier still sits on a shelf in my office, not for sentimental reasons, but for pure eclectic charm, it now reminds me on a daily basis, that no matter how much I thirst to taste the drink of sweet success, some cocktails are simply meant to be stirred and not shaken, sipped and savored slowly.

©2010 Jill Terry

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