I Love When One Of My Poems From My Deleted Blog Finds Me.

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.

Pretense

Let's not pretend that any touch means anything but "mine."

Surrendering

Surrendering involves trust, fear, a discomfort as you are exposed further than you ever expected when you began this journey.

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. 

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.

All of You

It has never been about what you would or would not show, what you would or would not do; never about just how hard or how loud you would cry out. It was never about how far the torture could go before you sputtered the safe word, or how, the next time we went further. It was not about your hunger to please, your messy desperate hunger, your submission. what you would or would not wear and where. The collars. The chains. The cuffs. It was not how or where you wanted to be filled, or marked with cum. It was not how, once you saw that fantasies could and did become real, you gave yourself to them. It was not how often, or how many. It was not the desire that matched, sometimes somehow exceeded mine. It was not the hair trigger that set your need off, the way your body, so exquisite and lush, writhes. All those are delightful and more than most women have to offer. more than most women are. but it has always been, always be, your ability to trust the love you feel, the desire rises, and surrender to the one man who knows, and wants, constantly wants, all of you.

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.

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.

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

Thank you!

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.