Are your hands as gentle as your smile, as cunning as your eyes? Do they move with the agility of your tongue? Are they as wicked as your smile?
Whisper to me your desires. Describe each touch, each pleasure. Tell me in crowds. Tell me with friends. Share your thoughts with me. Our secret world, encapsulated in our bodies and these whispers. Cast me furtive glances across the room. Your smile and the duck of your head. Demure when you’re anything but. Let’s find a place away from the crowd, I want the smell of you in my nostrils when I talk to your friends. To look at you with a smile, full of fire and promises. I want them to wonder why you blush so when I say your name. Hold my hand under the dinner table. Watch the fire dance and lean back into me. You are home.
Poems
The well worn path
What shall I be in the aventine days
Between tread and light
Drunk on powers leavings
Sip wine of pleasures keeping
Lost to decadence turning
But wake
Wake wanderer, your journey begins in ends
Wake wanderer, the path of blood opens
It sings down the skein of mortal years
Waking become a vessel
Stand
And stand
between
Neither darkness nor light
But shadow drawing strength from the juxtaposition
Wake and bound to service
Wake to a world
Found forgotten, echos all that remain
But
In fury
Wake anew
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I want (obverse)
To scream
To cry out
To confront you
To kiss you
To hold you
To walk away
To burn the building down
To do anything to get your attention
To hide from ever being
To shout out, “why do I still love you!”
To beg you,
anything, anything to stop hurting
To plunge myself out of emotions and back into physical pursuits
And deep down, I thrash and strain, attempting to wrench myself free, while secretly hoping, you’ll say the word
Anything is better than this half state
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Dreamwalker
Tilt world
Drink my blood like rain
Sleeting down, drowning the streets below profane forgiveness
Knocked loose constellations
Roll, burn
Slipping semblance of illusion
By blood I am born
By blood I begin again
Awoke and transformed
A new life, a new chance
Press reset
The vague memories of the wheel turning
A voice, a look,
Choose left instead of right, speak, remain quiet
Sleep
Live a lifetime with that choice, wake and start again.
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Hearts beat
All I want is you in my arms
I thought I had found you
each time I am mistaken
So I keep looking, keep finding, keep losing
I’m tired, I’m spent
But my heart still leaps, still yearns, still beats
A little slower now, a little quieter,
Yearning for the soft unguarded moments
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Fantasies
*reading instructions*
Take a deep breath, on the exhale read a line, repeat
His kisses on my neck.
Swaying to sensuous sounds.
As she dances with me.
Kiss lips, hold right hand, clasped.
Turn and face him, lips eager.
Her head resting against my back as we sway and dance.
I reach under his shirt, running hands along him.
Take off his shirt button by button.
Her kisses along my spine.
Her hands slow, light over me.
Taking off clothes from each other but always touching.
Kisses and soft exploration of each other.
He plunges himself inside me, hands caressing.
Body draped over me, slow and full shudders.
kissing her, touching, slipping in.
holding close, sweat and touch.
Physicality enraptured, skin and pleasure, touch and desire.
coupling and uninhibited.
Sleeping in a pile, waking to her riding me.
his mouth on mine, the taste of his cum.
the velvet hardness of him in my mouth.
my seed spilling into her as his spills into me.
Coffee and eggs, and conversation.
Dinner plans. A life together.
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Memory
Do you remember who you were at 3 years old, what you were doing? I do.
Do you remember the books you read or the things you did when you were 6? I do.
Do you know when you first felt lust? I do, and it was in 1st grade.
I remember. I remember. I remember.
It is what I do. When I talk about vignettes playing out in my head from the frozen river of the past. That’s some decent imagery but it is also the plain truth.
I don’t get to forget. The best I can hope for is to compartmentalize the memory and convince myself that its forgotten. I write because I must. Because doing so relieves some of the stress. I wrote all through high school. Then I stopped. I stopped for 13 years. so what did I do to relieve stress? I fell back on another coping mechanism. hedonism.
Pure physical gratification. Drink, music, sex, food, psychedelics. Anything, everything to deal with pain. My Sara saved me by teaching me to harness those impulses, to rein them in. To master myself through mastering others. Then I lost her. And the barren earth desolation of that loss is still with me. I’m choked up just writing this as memories pour out of the open doors.
Do I occasionally still retreat to that place where only physical lust will satisfy that need? Yes. Do I indulge in it? I don’t. It is the most self destructive thing I’ve ever done. And I’ve done a fairly large number of things I’ll likely never speak of. I can harness those experiences. I write about those experiences and it can seem like I’m engaging in those activities. I’m not.
I wrote 3 pieces today in addition to this one and in one I state I only move forward. It’s true. The past informs the future. It does not control it. I control me and I choose to become more than I was. Always forward. Understanding and accepting the past is a necessity, especially for someone who doesn’t get the gift of forgetting. But allowing that past to be the only thing you will ever be is not acceptable.
I was recently wondering about my personality type; INTJ if your interested. I was sort of obsessing about it. There are incongruities with the type and how I handle the world and I realize now it’s because I remember. Because I have been working on who I am and what I want and how those things are expressed actively for years. Since I was in grade school and decided I would always listen to new music. Because I saw my parents get stuck in the music of their youth and I saw that as stagnation. Always forward even then.
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Vanilla-*NSFW
A dick, a pussy, an ass, a mouth
To me these are all vanilla
Been there done that
If that is all you want, there better be an emotive component because otherwise what’s the point
But if you want to be owned, trained
Then I don’t need the emotive crutch
The process, the new, the interplay is enough
Tell me your dirtiest, darkest desires
I’ll make them come true
You have other lovers?
That’s nice, I like to watch, participate
with them, with you
switch me round, pain and pleasure
drink me, drown me
I’m good for 3 or more, then spent, fingers, toys and mouth
quiver and cum, I want your pleasure writ loud in animalistic sounds
whimper, tied up, ball gag, breathe play, the lash, the flog, the paddle
flechettes if you go to the edge
don’t believe that my ongoing quest for emotional relationships preclude the physical
I’ve immersed myself, lost myself in rut
I like going down so much that I do daily tongue exercises to build endurance
I’m a fat guy, losing the weight but still I can see why you’d go for the skinny guy,
But 3 things (always at least 3), I am an accomplished and practiced lover, many consider me to be attractive despite the fat, and I get off on you getting off. and if you are into kink or BDSM, we have plenty to talk about or explore.
I just need you to ask, to be interested. Unless we are dating, I require a smack to the face to show consent, open palm and smile if you like rough, we’ll discuss how far you want to go
Come on, come out
I’m feeling too emotional right now and need to lose myself in skin and pleasure
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One bleeds into another
And I wherein a candle make
In shadow,
shrift down
drift and dive
The split, the fain
Dagger dance
Twist and drink
The dragon road burns
A song drifts in sleeps melody
Waking the dreamers
Rain falls upward
Defiance and fealty
Sink low in bog
In tavern creel
Bound traveler
Bound sorrow
Wings unfurled
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Rain
I’d like to share nights listening to the rain pounding down
I’d like to share soft mornings
Slowly waking beside you
I’ve lost and I’ve found
Why does no one stay?
Pelgris 