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Category: intimacy

Darkest Light.



Darkest Light

and all drowning
my essence of night.
Deepest blue,
darkest burgundy,
it matters not,
my essence is cloaked
in this state, this void.
Think not of my night
and my aura as negative
for a dark state
can be a canvas.
A blank page for
something bright
to create. . .something
bright to form
my nights’ sky
and give it character.
and make it
come alive.

Yet it should consume me.
Darkness such as the night sky
should devour me, swallowing
my essence into oblivion.
Do you see me?
I am a mere whisper
of light lost in the echos of time. Yet,
when you lay me upon
your dark essence,
your canvas
becomes my art.
Your depth is my contrast.
I tip toe through your darkest blues
leaving illuminated kisses.
My essence, glimmers and glistens
upon your touch, for my light. . .
is love,
created by your darkness.

Words & Image
©5-2017 Locthiese/Karen Hayward

Check out more work crafted by the multi-talented Loc Thiese by clicking here


If time is linear…?


So tell me my sweet,

whisper it too me as I sleep.

If it is so that time is linear

then those days that we believe(d)

that the Oceans mist beckoned

to our souls in ancient whispers

of love’s unity traversing the

barrier of time,

perhaps, I ponder now,

that we were wrong,

for in the sea’s golden mist

I hear now a souls song.

The guiding light of purity

embracing me upon this shore.

The ebbing tide that caresses our minds

and teases the contours of our spirit

the distant call of past lives, an eternity

in love and now it is, my dearest sweet

that I hear your voice upon the sea,

a linear promise that you are guiding me

true love traversing time, forever in unity.

Karen Hayward *2017

Image and words.




Amber and Blue.


Amber and Blue

When you think of me before I do
When you think of me instead of you
my everything in a world untrue
You are the silver and the gold
The amber and blue
A crescendo of rhythm in my heart unfolds
the little things you do,
is the everything I hold.
From amber and blue
aura everlastingly bold
I can feel love’s brightest glow
Let the the notions of love
be the binding glue
in you i find the beauty
In all that you do
Vibrant and alive..
like amber and blue
I can only cherish the fates that made you mine
A flaming joy in crystalline time
You are the sparkle the starlight sublime
The gravity that holds me close to you.
the beauty of love in the amber and blue

(c) 2016 Michael J. Garland
(c) image Karen Hayward

More of Michael’s amazing poetry can be found on his Google Plus page…

Without the Rainbow Pieces.

Photo courtesy of Walter E. Gantt. ©2016

‘Pieces of a Rainbow.’


I feel a vast emptiness inside of me,

spreading through the black storm

clouds, I search for my Rainbow and

I recall you gave it away.

And I search  for my love

and I remember you gave it away.

And I wonder where is my passion

and I recall you gave up that too.

And I ponder the way we once connected,

perfectly synchronized

and I don’t even try as you gave that away…

And now I wonder what is left…

A future?

A future without love

without passion

without soul

…is a slow and torturous death.

Karen Hayward ©2016

Image used with permission ©Walter E. Gantt. 2016

Please see more of his amazing photography here on g+

His wonderful photography can also be

viewed and brought here at Fine Art America.

Ode to my headphones.

Solitude, another world untouched by reality

a vortex of gratitude, a gift from Barachiel perhaps.

They exist, so I may exist in the darkness. They are

my light and without them my world is plunged

into the abyss alongside Satan and his lonely soldiers.


It is love. With every flutter of my heart with every

beat to the rhythm of sound it is love. It sweeps

through my soul freeing me. A tiny world encompassed

in the whitest light.  They are silence,

In a world that so is audibly violent.

They are hope when my light cannot burn,
When it flickers weak in the screaming breeze,
A magnitude of thoughts, hummed, sung, played, spoken,
Whispered to me as I fall.
They are the only one to see my tumble, the only one to call my name.

Harmonious perfection, a chorus of comfort,
As they play the secrets to my life,
Repeating the drumming soldier, the screaming broken soul,
the essence of love, the token of…friendship.
The belief in myself, they are my strength, when I am weak.

They are my light, my only light in a world engulfed in the flames of hell.
Without them I am lost plunged back into the punishment of silence.
The bridge between nowhere and hope.
They are love, they are my soul, my spirit and the essence of
My being.

Karen Hayward © 2016.


Beating flesh.


A helpless romantic,
hapless endeavours, darkness calling,
shadows spinning.
Love worn on the
Sleeveless arm
the expenditure, a soul.
Torn, mutilated, dysfunctional.
Spirit waned, despondent.
Using the light as stepping
stones to reach the darkness.
A vice grip, blood dripping,
heart massacred
clawing at the shredded pieces.
Super glue, brown paper, string and spit holding
together the
mass of beating
flesh in broken rhythm.

Karen Hayward ©2016

60, 59, 58…

Sixty extra minutes, fifty nine really would surmise.

But an extra hour really would be kinda nice.

In that extra precious time I could surely make you mine.

My little tiny world could pause and still I would have time.

I could stretch and flex my fingers

in calm anticipation of this feeling that lingers.

I could make a cuppa, 2 sugars, white,

sit for a moment and enjoy the night.

They’d be time for a piss and still nothing i’d miss.

Time to relax, let go of the day

still plenty of time to sit back and play.

And when the new day arrives,

still I could soar and fly.

Time would be mine to wake from this slumber,

for the clock would be showing just a new number.

I could yawn and stretch or even play fetch.

I could explore and devour and be left hoping for more

if I could just get the extra hour I need at that door.

Karen Hayward ©2016.

Games of Old.

I want to play cards. Give me cards.

Old cards with worn out edges and the remnants

of forgotten nights and remembered mornings.

I want to play Black Jack, rummy,

and snap. Yes snap.

Fuck snap.

We’ll play strip snap.

I want to swallow down burning

hits of red aftershock as I shimmy

another Ace from sight.

Play me.

Lay out your cards and

show me your heart(s).

Let the night forget us in shadows

of lust, let the dawning sun be our light.

Wrap me in white cotton sheets, lead me as

cards fall from the air and onto the bed.

Lay me among Kings and Queens.

Spoil me.

Kiss me, lips locked together

as you pull memories from my hair. Push aside

my legs and as the morning sun falls upon us,

fall into me.

One deep thrust.

A nights worth of flirting, a lifetime of desire,

the dark moments in the shadows and

the whispered touches that only the breeze could carry.

One thrust.

Lips locked, fingers intertwined.

Let the air be sucked from my lungs

as you press my hands down into the bed.

Desire so deep, so dark, so desperate

let it seep from me into you and back again

as we are locked together in that single moment.

Hold me and never leaving my body free me. Watch me

as the white sheet falls and innocence is lost.

Hair tangled falling across my delicate skin

trail your fingers across my breast. Gently, stroking

as I rise up and arch my back ensuring a perfect lock.

Watch me. Your fingers trailing my thighs. Hear me

as carnal lust leaves my body covering you tightly,

throbbing, together as the morning sun drops

golden glitter across our skin.

Karen Hayward ©2016

Deviance in my sight.

Fake it. Fake it until you feel it,

but how can I feel anything when

all I ever see in those deep eyes is

emptiness. An object of requirement

tossed aside once used. One, two three,

tweak, one, two, three, tweak. All that

matters is you hit your peek.

I’m an unexplored discarded vessel

that you perceive as a genie in the lamp,

two rubs, pink smoke fills the room

and your wish is my command.

Fake it, fake it until you believe it.

I am, I am, I am, I am!

I am all that you created for

this i’m sure you are elated.

My reflection is without image, my eye’s

without spirit, my body without

passion, tweak it, tweak it

the latest line in loves new fashion.

I am, I am, I am. Fake it, fake it until

you believe it.

See past the indiscressant

behaviour, look through the emptiness,

search for the reflection, discard the

golden bands of possession and find it.

Before a lack of passion devours your

soul for eternity.


Believe it.


Karen Hayward © 2015






If I wandered past you

naked would you see through

me and continue to stare

at the TV? If I laid upon the

bed and stared adoringly at

the ceiling, would you at

least give me a little feeling?

Will you ever see me as more

than an end, will our passion

always e, pretend.


Karen Hayward © 2015.