Without A Word

I am slowly findling my poems from the Tumblr purge of my former site.

in the candlelight and fire your body is art, full or line and shadow, tied, able to move just enough to prove your helplessness.

I caress your back, stopping to nibble, my sharp teeth leaving small marks on your alabaster flesh. branding you as mine.

My fingers cup your bottom, They…

I am always happy to find my old poems from my banned origional site. This is one.

It is also a reason to reblog, so every one can reclaim their tumbr past.

in the candlelight and fire your body is art, full or line and shadow, tied, able to move just enough to prove your helplessness.

I caress your back, stopping to nibble, my sharp teeth leaving small marks on your alabaster flesh. branding you as mine.

My fingers cup your bottom, They…

I love it when one of my poems from my deleted blog finds me!

Mad Love

and then you find yourself in that moment of madness when you not sure whether to pull away or press closer,  the pain pleasure,  and the pleasure pain.  Mad love. 

By the Time I am Sated

Ah, the time I will take with you. Your arms tied high. Your legs spread. Dressed in nothing but heels and a collar. Teetering. Exposed. Unsure where you are, only that for the next few hours, every square inch of your body will be touched. At times softly. At times roughly. Your body mine, and by the time I am sated, your soul as well.

More than Sex

More Than Sex

Your back arches with each thrust.  Your back, supple and soft,  feels the hard table under you,  feels the hard thrust of my cock,  feels the power of my love as I look down,  my hands grasping your hips,  my eyes devouring you, as I slide in you,  again and again.  Not content to feel you,  my desire is to own you,  to make you mine in a way you never could have imagined wanting,  to make you cry out in a soulful desire and surrender,  to fill you, not just with my shaft,  not just with the warm liquids of love,  but with something deeper,  that plunges your depths,  and touches your heart with each mad thrust. 

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I have been gifted a trove of poems from my banned "Other Poems" blog. So I will be posting some of those between my newer ones. This poem is from the older blog.

When and Where

My hand reaches and finds your thigh,  resting there where all can see, wondering,  like you,  if,  or rather when,  my hand will reach up and claim you,  claim your moist heat for my own,  opening you,  probing you,  never satisfied until you cry out in surrender to your own pleasure. 

They can not know as I know,  that were I to slide my hand slowly up your silken thigh,  right now,  right here,  you would allow it,  the perfect submissive,  always willing to take,  or give pleasure at the moment of my desire. 

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Tumblr killed my former site, The Other Poems, after eight years of poetry and over 12,000 readers and friends. If you like this poem, please consider reposting it so I can find my friends and followers again. Thank you.

By now

By Now

By now you should know. Never say you are mine to do with unless you mean it.

A Memory in Pink

She wore pink lingerie,

And I looked at her, no gazed at her

Like it was the first time.

That is the way it has always been with her,

Ever new. Perfect for all the reasons she believes

herself not to be.

Perhaps it was not on for long,

But it did not matter. She wore it for me,

knowing full well the effect the gift would have on me.

Passion enflamed. Senses suddenly vibrant.

Heart lost to her yet again. My heart touched

As much as my body.

It is true that she submits to me,

But I am forever lost in her.

Both of us, exactly as we should be.

Taken. Not Taken

You, and all that you are,  every curve and line,  every expanse of silken skin,  every orifice,  every dark corner of your heart….

mine. 

Not taken,  no matter how it seems  when I render you helpless and take your body like a slave to my pleasure. 

No, not taken,  but given in a perfect, desperate love more complete than passion or romance alone could ever be. 

After

After.

After. After it all. After the rough filling. The bruising of your softest tissues. The marks. The taking of more than your body. After one more orgasm than you believed possible. After you are left breathless and limp. Spent. After all that, still... the tiniest of smiles.