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The Problem

The problem is... The problem has always been that everything reminds me of you, and there is not enough time with you, for me to tell you how.

After It All

After it all. The night. The taking.

The fantasy and madness.

The beyond expectations and in some cases,

Imagination. After your heart’s wildness,

The heaving breath. The throat sore from cries.

The marks.

After there is no one left but you and I

And the messy memory of our hours

And orgasms. After it all, there is this.

You in my shirt. A cup of tea.

My arms open to hold you

As long as you need to let it all sink in,

Allowing lust to become love

And memory,

and the certainty of more.

Again

From across the room, I watch. I have seen you naked. I have seen you with walls. I have seen you unbridled, surrendered, wild. I have heard you cry out and heard you cry. Seen you bound and seen you free. And in all I have seen, I have loved you. And will love you still when I see you naked, no matter its form, again.

This is How I Want You.

This is how I want you,  spent from hours of touch and penetration,  no part of you  innocent or unfilled,  your body trembling,  your throat raw from moans and cries of orgasm,  the sheets pulled loose by your clinched hands,  your nipples tender,  your clit throbbing,  beautifully abused,  you clamber up,  and whisper,  “Please” as you reach for my cock and draw it to your swollen lips. 

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Tumblr killed my original poetry site, The Other Poems, after 8 years and 12,000+ followers. If you would be kind enough to share this poem, I may find some of my friends and followers.

The Real Things Never Die

At times you seem a dream.

Impossibly perfect, if not for the world,

At least for me. Every line and confession.

Every slowly strip tease and revelation

Kept so silent for so long. Released. Shared.

Trusted. Every curve just where my dreams would have them.

Every desire a mirror. Dreams that became hopes.

But, time and distance, pasts and vulnerabilities

Have their cost. And yet, even now, apart,

You seem a dream more real than a heart can stand

And I am left not knowing what is and is not,

Like a night lost in lust, so deep it feels like

A movie without a proper ending,

Real and not real and a little floundering,

Something vintage and yet somehow still vibrant.

Lust lives. Love lives. The real thing never dies.

Nothing Close to mine

Dressed less. Showing more each time I take you out. Feeling eyes on you. Feeling the hunger of strange men, rabid, wild, but nothing close to mine.

Suddenly Safe

And then, you suddenly realize the fantasy is about to come real. Me standing, directing the pleasure of everyone involved in a way you never believed happens. Certainly not to you. A smile on my face, half wicked, half so full of love you ache for it, feeling suddenly safe in this strange place you find yourself.

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Fill in your fantasy. With the right person, they can happen. But for Gods sake, make sure it is the right person who will both push you and protect you, and love you even more after it is done.

And Just When You Think

And just when you think there are no more adventures... I show you otherwise.

That is our life. And always will be.

Consumption

This is control. Not that I weild the knife, though I have often enough, but that you hold it, cut away the barriers, threaten your own perfect skin as you reveal the last of its silk for my consumption.

Not The First. The First

I know I am not the first to see you naked. Not the first to touch you. No, I am sure your body has been touched everywhere by others. I am sure others have pushed their way into you, filled you, gently and roughly both. I am not the first to feel your hands around my shaft. Or your lips. I am not the first to bring you to orgasm. Perhaps not even the first to bring you several of them, one after the other. My cock is not the first to feel the delicate tightness of your throat, the tight depths of your vagina, or the yielding constraint of your ass.

I never expected to be the first when we found each other. We had lives. Past. Past lovers.

But I can tell you this. No man has loved you as deeply. No man has wanted not just your body but your sexy soul. No one, and I sure of this, wanted to take you to experiences that are the first. No one more dedicated to making fantasies real and fill your soul with my sex. No one will ever believe you are magic and spend his life partaking, punishing, exalting you to everyone, but most particularly, to you.

And in time, you will never be reminded of those who came before. Only of us.