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
Yes
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
offer
I’m not wanting a half
I am whole and don’t need
anymore
It’s late
Kiss me deadly and I am all yours
Tag Archives: sex
Kiss Me Deadly
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
quietness.
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.
Introducing…
I am the slithers of suggestion, drizzled drip by drip
drenching consciousness with
desire.
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
Provocative.
I am the hunger in your eyes.
The greed.
Your need for satisfaction.
Sexuality.
I am.
Erotica.
**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.
Click.
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.
So.
I thought about telling them, yelling,
”Hey – you were around in the
seventies”
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?
Fuck
you three. And not in a good way.
Who am I?
Oh, just listening in,
Judging you, Judging them.