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

Another of my poems from my banished blog. I love finding these!

Timeless Night

A little laughter. A little conversation. A bit of flirting. The gentlest of foreplay. Time. Or perhaps timelessness. Paying no attention to it, only each other, with an intensity that is gradual, like crabs in a pot, the heat rising slowly, the dance growing, more and more frantic, the heat suddenly all, passion, and more, life turned to a desperation for each other, for penetration, need, until finally, the little death in a cry and overwhelming. Gasps for breath. until it begins again. A little laughter in our timeless night.

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.

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.

Not Just Lust

You wipe the last drop of another man's cum, the fourth tonight, your lips uncertain, knowing I have watched each one take their pleasure with you, knowing I have seen your own pleasure with perfect strangers. Your eyes too, uncertain whether I will still want you, whether I feel the same as I felt a few hours ago, just as in love, just as passionate, the kind of passion we have always had, built on more than lust for your body, built on knowledge of who you are, needs, flaws, and glorious imperfections and even this, the dream finally fulfilled as I watch. You look up, waiting, and then, seeing.

No, my love. Nothing has changed as I wrap my fingers in your head and guide your puffy tender lips to my swollen shaft, eager to feel what they did not. Not just lust, love.

I love when I find one of my poems from my deleted blog, or in this case, they find me. @owithadash2point0 - thank you!

An Understanding.

I believe you finally understand. Anywhere means.... anywhere. Anything means anything. And mine means only. completely.

When, or If

The thing is, I always start tender and for a few moments, maybe more, you are uncertain how you will bring me pleasure, when, or if the caress will turn into a sharp slap, when, or if your tender pink nipple will find itself clamped, chained or twisted. When, or if, you go from lover to slave and back again.

I am slowly finding some of my old poems, and friends on Tumblr. This is one.

Consequences

Blindfolded, you feel more  intensely.  Each caress.  Each tiny pinprick of pain

is distinct from the other. 

Until all subtlety is abandoned and I split you asunder,  losing my control to my passion, 

forcing each cry ripped from your lips,  each one the consequence of your surrender. 

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.

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.

Lost and Found

Lost and Found

It is the white space,  the place between anticipation and the residual pain of marks,  of lashes,  the moment of it,  as it lances through you and the pain does not even cry out,  it simply consumes you and there is nothing else, and you are no longer what you believed,  not submissive, for that does not matter,  not in your own particular kind of love,  you are lost and found in it,  all other worries exploded, no longer important, a single minded woman finally in a peace you cannot explain,  the world around you lost,  your soul, found.