Command Performance

By Bud Koenemund

Just a bit of silliness, really; for D.

O, would-be muse, with skin brown and creamy;
Commanding a little song all your own –
Verses at once poetic and steamy –
While the taste of thy kiss remains unknown.
Shall my pen toil at your beck and call?
Pray, what recompense will this effort gain?
Wilt thou sate these appetites after all?
I do entreat some pleasure for this pain.
Must I rely on fantasy alone
To enkindle such creative fires;
When amorous thoughts leave me all undone,
As I expound on lust and desire?
   Should my words of praise not garner some fee;
   Or, as art for art’s sake, be rendered free?

Heaven Help Me

By Bud Koenemund

(Written: January 2021)

Heaven help me, I get lost in your eyes;
My mind enchanted by those circled orbs –
A maelstrom of fantasy spinning – while sighs
Escape from lips longing to kiss yours.
Oh, I must confess, too many waking
Thoughts are consumed by daydreams; my focus
Struggling ‘gainst grace; Reason’s forsaken,
Abandoned to a barely disguised lust.
Yet, even this concupiscence is pure –
A respect undimmed by base desire –
And my heart requires no other cure
But passion, for which I’ll risk Hell’s fire.
   I do revel in thy beauty endued;
   Treasuring ev’ry moment spent with you.

More Fool Than Poet

By Bud Koenemund

For Lindsay

If poetry could amend my visage;

Its rhythm melt away a dozen years,

Allowing prose or rhyme power to bridge

The chasm twixt concupiscence and fear,

I would dedicate my verses for thee;

Endeavouring ever to coax your smile

With little songs proclaiming its beauty –

Confessions composed in a heart beguiled.

But, cursed by time, what words can I bestow

That might defy fortune and win thy kiss?

Lady; you make me more fool than poet;

Courting doom as age mocks my search for bliss.

   Oh, Muse; goddess of creativity;

   Thy grace shall achieve immortality.

The Brightness of Heaven Outshined

By Bud Koenemund

For Lindsay

What power lies hidden in beauty’s eyes –

Enchanting and mysterious – to seize

My heart; kindling passion undisguised

By modesty? Could any galaxy’s

Stars counterfeit the radiance I find

In those orbs? O, even angels enskied

Must praise the brightness of heaven outshined;

Mere ash compared ‘gainst emeralds rarified.

But, time has cursed me to live in shadow,

Lacking the incandescence of your grace;

And yet, I will stumble forward unbowed,

Desiring thy kiss ere death’s embrace.

   While words can celebrate organs of sight,

   These verses pale in your eternal light.

Never Close My Eyes

By Bud Koenemund

For "Her."

If you were mine, I’d never close my eyes

When we kiss, afraid you would disappear

Upon opening; like those things enskied

When each morn the returning sun doth ‘pear

O’er far horizon. In truth, I’d savor

Every moment – and yet crave still more;

Searching thy orbs for some sign of favor

Equal to that filling my soul. Restore

Faith in love, and sweeten corrupted dreams,

With a look – evidence to prove thy heart

Attainable – for my hope and esteem

Are spent; bled away by an age apart.

   I hold now only memories, longing,

   And the cold comfort of these little songs.

Soured Kisses

By Bud Koenemund

For "Her."

Every kiss that could have been yours sours
On my lips, left ungiven – infected
With quotidian doubt, which devours
The spirit; worsening when neglected.
You refused the amity I tendered,
Abandoning a poet created
In your eyes. This rejection engendered
An embarrassment time cannot negate.
I can’t claim a soul blessed with perfection;
But, despite my faults – which are manifold –
Each promise of honor and affection
Was pure – untarnished as the finest gold.
   This heart has been damaged beyond measure,
   And will ne’er again count love life’s treasure.

The Bosom of Venus

By Bud Koenemund

For TK
(& James Franco)

Thou art, Lady, worthy of sweetest rhymes,
That might entice the bosom of Venus;
Possessing a beauty which transcends time
When thy visage serves to kindle genius.
The mysteries of inspiration lay
Beyond my ken, but I must praise thee, Muse;
As verse twirls in a lyrical ballet,
I accept thy favor without excuse.
Yet, I would trade all those words for a kiss,
And the sound of you whispering my name;
Oh, welcome desire and hasten bliss,
As souls unite, forged strong by passion’s flames.
   My sanctuary lives within thy breast;
   A place I pray my heart may find its rest.

I Pray Some Score of Words Writ by Thy Hand

By Bud Koenemund

For "Her."

I pray some score of words writ by thy hand;

Endearments revealing themselves in curves

Of ink; sentiments render'd to stand

As perfect testament of love preferred.

I hunger for the mercy in thy kiss;

A solitary touch of lips 'gainst mine.

Or, the heat of your breath as you whisper

"I love you;" so claiming my heart as thine.

But, too often, Muse, I lack thy favour,

And my soul sickens denied sustenance –

It withers to dust sans one I adore;

Wishing recov'ry by thy maintenance.

   Do not allow doubt to flourish unchecked,

   Nor let this affection die by neglect.

Silence

By Bud Koenemund

For "Her."

Silence does not help temper growing fears –
Avoiding speech serves only to confuse.
I desire to hear thy voice bathe my ears
With truth, although it may once more abuse
A heart battered in the tempests of doubt.
This withholding poisons every thought;
Sickening an affection long devout,
While this fool offers piety for naught.
Love, I beg you, redeem a mind stained black,
And bring an end to this dream-like eclipse
Of despair by granting the thing I lack.
O, claim this soul with a touch of your lips.
   I've borne the torment of limbo, and wish
   To be roused from this nightmare by thy kiss.

If I Should Drink Thee to My Soul's Content

For "Her."

If I should drink thee to my soul's content,
I would drown in the sweetness of thy kiss;
Baptized anew by your intoxicant
Lips, I would dwell forever in that bliss.
I pray one taste to satisfy my thirst –
Though, in truth, a single touch will not sate
This yearning, but risk intemperance. Cursed
To desire more, I battle 'gainst fate.
By Aphrodite, I raise this appeal:
If passion be not poison, grant the death
We often reach by lust, and show thy zeal
With whispers of love floating on your breath.
   Thy Ambrosia has o'erwhelmed my spirit,
   But, in my weakness lies all the profit.

Deadly Sin

Am I not a mortal, born into sin;
An imperfect man, destined to transgress?
Shall I stand condemned for the beast within;
Tendering prayers entreating forgiveness?
No! I'll abandon virtue for thy kiss,
The warmth of your skin on my fingertips,
And whispers shrouded in the Dragon's mist –
Where carnal urges rise and reason slips.
Each time I see you, I long to confess
This fault; to admit the concupiscence
Burning through my body. Though, what blessing
Would that bring, when lust o'erwhelms innocence?
   Your touch alone can sate this desire,
   And damn my soul to the eternal fire.

Il Mio Respiro

For "Her."

In truth, my words are writ by thy fingers.
Is it not you who first taught me to love;
Who enchanted me while my eyes lingered
On thine, and kindled a flame undreamt of?
What glory can be mine when the sound
Of your voice arouses my pen? O, spark
Imagination by thy touch; and compound
Thee little songs with kisses in the dark.
Lady, though I fear my desires blaspheme
Love, I pray by such devotion you know:
Your breath is my breath, your dreams are my dreams,
And your body houses my very soul.
O, Muse; O, Fire; O, living passion;
Thou art my bright heaven of invention.

Of Ice Cream, Laughter, and "Shakespeare in Love"

A fantasy in sonnet form.

For Kristen Brownell.

Fingers trace over secret paths explored –
Each curve and cleft now mapped in memory.
Kisses and whispers linger on lips, as your
Scent drifts on an air of avidity;
With the gravity of a dying sun
We pull together, two bodies aflame;
Our flesh – now fire and fuel – joins as one,
Surrendering to this lust without shame;
Fresh hunger drives us. We consume the world,
Yet desire more as the appetite seems
To increase; even while pleasures unfurl –
Pushing our passion to the verge of dream.
This madness grows with every ragged breath,
‘Til we are enskied by our little deaths.

I Would Write My Poems on Your Body (Redux)

For Amy Lynn Watkins

I would write my poems on your body,
With words that linger like kisses on skin;
Timeless lines praising all you embody,
And find no shame in committing this sin;
I would give sonnets like warm caresses,
To trace o’er your flesh eliciting sighs,
And pen for you most unworthy verses
Of love many know only with their eyes;
The fire of our passion would become art,
Raging higher as desire mates with rhyme,
Requiring no fuel but these beating hearts
To defeat assured death and outlast time.
On flesh and bone the world will take its toll,
But love grants endless life unto your soul.

A Universe Begins With Just a Kiss

A universe begins with just a kiss,
The gentle touching of trembling lips,
An exploration of innocent bliss,
And the measured tracings of finger tips;
We take each other in with ragged breaths,
Enduring the raw pleasurable pain,
Inhaling fragrances of mingled sweat,
As every move becomes the other’s gain;
We promise ourselves a lifelong romance,
While lying together in a close curve,
Intertwining in this tender dance
Of pulsating heartbeats and exploding nerves.
Love grows into passion, and leads to this:
A universe begins with just a kiss.

My Simple Love Poems Live in Your Eyes

For "Her."

My simple love poems live in your eyes,
And in the slope of your imperfect nose.
Your porcelain cheeks beguile, and belie
The strange magic that inspires my prose;
My poems lie in the warmth of your lips,
For their sugared taste enlivens my pen,
And causes my heart to stutter and skip,
While yielding the rhymes on which I depend;
The touch of your skin arouses my muse,
While quietly easing my troubled mind,
With a wondrous pow'r I can not refuse,
As your passionate breath steals away mine.
You are the womb that gives my lyric birth,
And the lungs that breathe love into my verse.