Pretense

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.

I am slowly refinding some of my old poems from the pre-apocalypse, tumblr style.

Slow Burn

Tonight I will fill you slowly. 

My cock will push past the resistance of your swollen flesh

tortuously patient,  savoring every inch of your depths, 

every inch of your heat.  I will take the time to feel you, 

your wet warmth a tight embrace.  every nerve of my shaft

in ecstasy as you body surrenders it’s secrets. 

This too is control,  knowing your hunger,  knowing your desire to run amok with passion,  I take you on my terms,  a slow burn

desperately wanting to roar its heat, a bonfire of lust. 

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.

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

For, Not To

You and I know.  There is no filth involved.  Not between us.  No matter what others would think,  every act,  no matter how it seems,  is done for,  not to. 

Limits

And just as you believe there are limits to what might become real, uyou find out there are not. None in you. And certainly none from me.

Hours

Hours. I can spend hours savoring each square inch of perfection,

made perfect not by popular standards or the right software, but made pefect because it is you.

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

A Reminder

Legs high. Taken deep. A second time in as many hours. A reminder. There is no end to my need. And evidently, yours either.

No Matter

No matter how far the fantasies made real take us. There is always another step. No matter what the barriers to their realization, there is way past them. No matter your enslavement, I promise you, there is more.

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.

Incredibly thought-provoking, viscerally intense! Appreciate you for your expressions 🙏🎈

Thank you!