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Kiss Me Deadly

I like the feel of your lips
The way they tease and they tighten
the grip
on my soul
Lose control
I like the feel of your skin
Roll the dice, pour a
tonic and gin
and I’m yours
All yours
Take me down to that place by
the river
I like the way that you feel
when you shiver
and lock me in warmth I had never
considered before
Take me down, turn me on
get a glimmer
Just a taste of what I have to
I’m not wanting a half
I am whole and don’t need
It’s late
Kiss me deadly and I am all yours


Uncurl Me


Cocooned in a safety

with the softness of a

thousand white feathers,

I lie awake in my sleep.

There’s a warmth in the colours

that shoot stars

in the mist of consciousness,

enveloping life

with a seductive smile.

The fingers of slumber

caress, trace duplicitous

lines along my spine,

arousing my voice forward

into light.

In the tangle of sheets, a


An awakening. Stirring hearts

stain stirring lips.

Heat washes over

comfort’s sands, with a kiss

like this…

So uncurl me. Gently

taking twilight’s time.

Just as the night has, the day,

open eyes.


I am the slithers of suggestion, drizzled drip by drip
drenching consciousness with

I am the fire that ferments deep in the darkest parts
of your person, lighting the fuse.
Stimulating your power.

I am a warrior fighting abstinence.
Poisoning you
with tickling intoxication.

And I am blood.
Swelling the senses
with a delicious, viscous temptation.

The whisper of arousal at your ear,
I am sensuality.
Talking in tongues . Fantasy
infiltrating reality


I am the hunger in your eyes.
The greed.
Your need for satisfaction.


I am.


**This was written as a voice and to that end, I decided to record it as a spoken piece. Check out my post, Introducing…In Audio, here:
introducing…in audio

Or don’t! I hate to rob a reader of interpretation.

The Development Of Heat.

Breathing is staggered, ragged

with anticipation

and desire ripples in the shivering

of skin.

There’s a pounding from within that awakens

a stirring.  A new kind of hunger.


Sweat glistens in the photograph that the brain

is taking

and there is more than one

way to bring it forth, from the dark room.

Create it.

Scorch the image on to memory

with flesh and fire

and flashes of pulsing excitement.

Now’s the time…

Develop it.




Presumptive Promiscuity.

It was whilst having a beer or three

that I heard them say that

that club across the way

smelled of chlamydia.

And I thought it no more than

a witty remark

until their own stench permeated

the air.

From the window, the street sign, aptly

branded out of cold metal

spelled, ‘Love Street.’

Irony lives here, I remember thinking.

The bottom of my glass was visible

as I supped.

The Last Supper. Jesus. That was the

last one, I swear.


I thought about telling them, yelling,

”Hey – you were around in the


Or, ”You can’t kid a kidder!” but I’d

had one too many and this was not

about me. Or them. Or anyone.

That girl that they’re pawing over

is clearly

a slut; she’ll be fucked

from pillar to post.

Well, good on you, girl. Wait. Did I just

think that?

Say that?


you three. And not in a good way.

Who am I?

Oh, just listening in,

Judging you, Judging them.