Minutes, wind and wistful

Heat slips into veins
Heart beating in time with the trickle pulse
Of desulatory wind
Welcome arms as old lovers
Embrace to catch the sun

Light shivers and moans
Bare skin burn
Thrust hopeful into embrace of day

Foreknowledge speaks the coming night
Tears break ranks
Falling to the thirsty earth

Moon and stars rise
High waters drown the light
And I
Forgotten
Sleep
Bereft of touch

A lovers promise

I can inflict upon you such pleasure that lines begin to blur and only your desires dictate which is pain and which is pleasure.
I can make your mind tremble with anticipation of my touch.
With trepidation and luscious full lips.
I can show you a world where only your limits contain you.
Where nothing is forbidden.
Where all pains become pleasures and all sensation serves its truest purpose.
Give me your hand and I will make you mine.
And becoming mine know safety and sin.

Waking dream 

She stood before me. Tall in her heel, standing fierce. The soft paleness of calves curve upward. Her form is strength and hardship. But soft, so soft. Flesh that takes the markings of our lovemaking, that marks the lines of her possession. The heady scent of her cunt mingles with her soft perfume. Smelling of delicacy and delight, recalling the taste of her sweetness. Eyes take in the slight abundance of belly, this she sees as flaw and I see as beautiful. Yielding, the sound of a flogger slapping lightly, further marking her as mine. Her breasts are pillows, showing my bite marks, bruising in blacks, blues and yellows. She says they hurt and remind her of my attention and intention throughout the day. Each mark, each bruise, each small pain, reminding her of my total possession.

She watches me drink her in, wicked grin on her face. This our ritual each time. Her grin bursts wider pulling deep within me. This the smile that makes me want to ravish her, to take her until there is nothing left but grunts and pain and pleasure. All humanity torn away. Give in to shear animalistic rutt.

Her eyes twinkle, like she knows what I’m thinking. Like she knows and deeply approves. Knowing in my gaze and less than tender mercies, finally at last, how truly beautiful she is.