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John W. Hooper


Farmington Hills, MI, US

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Desert Wind


John W. Hooper

My hand moves upon your skin,
like the desert wind.
Your mouth is an oasis,
and in my great thirst
I kiss you endlessly.

You are the sculpted beauty
of a man's desires,
Caressed by my eyes, my hands,
my mouth, to conquer
my lifetime of longing.

Each night you are reshaped,
And your quicksilver
flesh writhes beneath me
and I have no beginning, no end,
like the desert wind.

My Hands


John W. Hooper

My hands travel your body
for the first time,
and at each curve I gasp.
My fingers caress each new path
alive in the soft heat of your skin.

And you are abundant in treasures:
your neck, your breasts, your hips.
And you are charged with energy,
diffused quivering as my fingers brush
the untouched insides of your thighs.

How they talk, my hands and your face,
my hands and your back,
like the cracked earth and falling rain,
together, at last, consumed with each other.
Tonight, my hands travel a thousand miles.



John W. Hooper

I should never look upon your face,
my angel, your consuming blaze
a haunting moon, it would sail my nights,
your sun would rise and set my days.

I should never gaze into your eyes,
my love, and see your naked depths,
or know my raging fire in your wind,
you cast forever in my soul.

I should never dare to touch your hand,
my gentle one, and end the longing of my flesh,
searing across the sky, the lightning,
entwined, one sacred temple.



John W. Hooper

The immense ocean,
majestic peaks above the clouds,
and on this earth
I watch a woman move.

In her everyday motions,
the beauty of her slender hands,
the strength of her supple legs,
she is greater than all music.

Amid the wonders of the world
I watch a woman move,
in the symphony
of her nameless grace.

Gentle One


John W. Hooper

Gentle one,
Alone in the storm
of men's eyes,

the blind man
feels from within,
with the soul.

Your small hands
pull from his heart
his secret

the sun and the moon,
and the stars.