saying something foolish

He saw her gaze
rest upon him.
Eyes to eyes
then she dropped
her glance.
Minor frown,
almost fear,
played across her face,
diminishing quickly
to studied indifference.
His features had been typical open,
Friendly,
Smiling.
Yet he too frowned,
briefly,
until he recovered.
His smile now slightly wistful,
torn to think that his demeanor
offered something painful
to one so attractive in his eyes.
__________________


There are whispers,
then there are kisses
that have words attached.
Sometimes the words
even make sense.
Not that the words
are necessary.
We can find
other ways
to communicate desire.
Words are just sweet icing,
swirling around two tongues.
__________________


So if I spend a kiss...
Sometimes we barter favors
spending kisses
and caresses.
"You can only kiss me twice
and then you have to go."
And she smiles knowingly
as I sneak in an intimate
touch.
A game we play,
assigning value
to our desire.
But it is all play money
that scatters to floor,
worthless,
less the moments shared,
which are always priceless.
__________________


So easy to fixate on you.
So what if my eyes wander
up and down and around.
{What an ass!}
Dacadent daydreams
where time slows down
lights dim
and your lips taste sweet
as candy's kiss.
And fuck I want you
sprawled beneath me
squirming out your discontent.
My discontent
Prodding us to try
another way.
Even as you ride me
off into the sunset.
Strip.
For me baby
and let me ponder the weight
of each breast.
Nipple sliding between my lips,
just the lightest of scrapes
across my teeth.
There is no tomorrow.
No yesterday.
Only now.
I want you now.

__________________



never having seen her eyes
I wonder at the emotion
they might show
or not
I know it's there
sorrow in the song
laughter in the light
sadness in the dark
love in every moment
never having seen her eyes
I wonder at their color
the emotion does not matter
as I see that in other ways
__________________


so it's not as if
I found her more feminine
in or out of pink
sweater
falling to the floor
and lips that glide
and slide
on bare skin
waiting that next move
with breath a little frantic
staccato sound
that breaks an afternoon's
silence
until the moans come into play
say what you will
only with passion
in your voice
__________________


No sight, no sound,
just sighs.
Just close your eyes
and let our lips
find the way
to each other.
What makes you lips
so soft,
so pleasing to kiss?
Have to reach out
and hold on to you,
you essence
affects my equilibrium.
You always have me off balance.
You always have me.
__________________


So what if she says
"Fuck you."
With that leering smile
and legs spread
beneath a short skirt.
Slapping me hard
after I slam her
into the wall.
Then trying to tear off
my face
when she pulls her lips
tighter into mine.
better finger
fuck her
a little
so she is not dry
to the touch.
Bitch forgot her panties.
Damn
makes me hot.
Hard.
Wonder if the bricks
will leave an abrasion
if I slam her
into the wall
once again
with skirt pulled up
around her waist.
Not that I care.
Much.
__________________


Oh my goodness!

Lusty, nasty talent.

I am enchanted.

:rose:
 
He saw her gaze
rest upon him.
Eyes to eyes
then she dropped
her glance.
Minor frown,
almost fear,
played across her face,
diminishing quickly
to studied indifference.
His features had been typical open,
Friendly,
Smiling.
Yet he too frowned,
briefly,
until he recovered.
His smile now slightly wistful,
torn to think that his demeanor
offered something painful
to one so attractive in his eyes.
__________________


There are whispers,
then there are kisses
that have words attached.
Sometimes the words
even make sense.
Not that the words
are necessary.
We can find
other ways
to communicate desire.
Words are just sweet icing,
swirling around two tongues.
__________________


So if I spend a kiss...
Sometimes we barter favors
spending kisses
and caresses.
"You can only kiss me twice
and then you have to go."
And she smiles knowingly
as I sneak in an intimate
touch.
A game we play,
assigning value
to our desire.
But it is all play money
that scatters to floor,
worthless,
less the moments shared,
which are always priceless.
__________________


So easy to fixate on you.
So what if my eyes wander
up and down and around.
{What an ass!}
Dacadent daydreams
where time slows down
lights dim
and your lips taste sweet
as candy's kiss.
And fuck I want you
sprawled beneath me
squirming out your discontent.
My discontent
Prodding us to try
another way.
Even as you ride me
off into the sunset.
Strip.
For me baby
and let me ponder the weight
of each breast.
Nipple sliding between my lips,
just the lightest of scrapes
across my teeth.
There is no tomorrow.
No yesterday.
Only now.
I want you now.
__________________



never having seen her eyes
I wonder at the emotion
they might show
or not
I know it's there
sorrow in the song
laughter in the light
sadness in the dark
love in every moment
never having seen her eyes
I wonder at their color
the emotion does not matter
as I see that in other ways
__________________


so it's not as if
I found her more feminine
in or out of pink
sweater
falling to the floor
and lips that glide
and slide
on bare skin
waiting that next move
with breath a little frantic
staccato sound
that breaks an afternoon's
silence
until the moans come into play
say what you will
only with passion
in your voice
__________________


No sight, no sound,
just sighs.
Just close your eyes
and let our lips
find the way
to each other.
What makes you lips
so soft,
so pleasing to kiss?
Have to reach out
and hold on to you,
you essence
affects my equilibrium.
You always have me off balance.
You always have me.
__________________


So what if she says
"Fuck you."
With that leering smile
and legs spread
beneath a short skirt.
Slapping me hard
after I slam her
into the wall.
Then trying to tear off
my face
when she pulls her lips
tighter into mine.
better finger
fuck her
a little
so she is not dry
to the touch.
Bitch forgot her panties.
Damn
makes me hot.
Hard.
Wonder if the bricks
will leave an abrasion
if I slam her
into the wall
once again
with skirt pulled up
around her waist.
Not that I care.
Much.
__________________

You truly have a gift! :rose::rose::rose:
 
Last edited:
Housecleaning post.



Soft laughter,
like chimes in the wind,
offering a moment of solace
in a dreary day.
Makes me smile,
makes me...
want.
The feminine sound
of amusement
rings clear
and oh how much I want
to take her in my arms
and have her make that sound
for me.


Pleasure?
It's in the eyes.
That is where the smile starts,
before it reaches the lips
I long to kiss.
And tongues are meant
for tasting.
But dancing
works just fine as well.
So let us dance
first to soft music,
then to softer sheets
that spill around us.


Fingertip trails
drawn on her own skin.
Lackadaisical.
She acknowledges my stare
with lips pursed in a smile.
Then leans back,
closing her eyes,
seemingly immune to my desire.
Perfect in her imperfection
(she says one is larger than the other).
But I adore her delicate taste,
her sensual skin,
as silk drawn over my lips.
My discomfort is her amusement,
knowing I will only wait so long.
I think tonight
the arm of the couch should offer
its support.
While we gloriously consider
our differences.


What jaded view
offered through cigar haze
and whiskey fumes.
Romance offered with
biting wit
and shattered dreams.
Some too painful to remember
others to poignant to forget.
Cherished memories
crushed
along with my cigar
in some random ashtray.


You know,
its not as if
you can grasp the one
you desire
at any moment,
or every moment.
But as long as you can grasp
at that moment
and be in the moment,
then everything will be okay.
Not that okay is ideal,
but it is an idea,
and having an idea
is better than having none.


when you shared
that last kiss,
did you make it
matter
enough
that if it were
your last kiss,
that the one you kissed
would remember it always?


"...you have your girl"

Is it the girl of my dreams
or am I just dreaming of girls?

That kiss was just slightly off center
when she caressed my cheek.
And somehow we miscued
on our romance for the evening,
leaving us too little time
for the movie.
So we ended up
on the couch
watching television,
with kisses that tasted of popcorn
and no one to see when I groped her
and she groped me back.
Sex is usually more messy than my dream,
less seamless,
more sensual.
The dialogue is the same,
just more noisy.
I like it.
But there is something
that isn't as strong
in my dreams.
The incredible satisfaction
of holding my girl.
 
Sirensong
sounds staccato
with a dissonant beat.
Not as tempting
as it once was.
Once was a yearning soliloquy
fraught with sensual tones
wrapped in velvet arms
and soft kisses.
Now all I’m hearing are
acrid tones,
lush is now barren.
I guess I should have listened
more closely
for the first discord sounds.
Tone is more ethereal,
perhaps even fixed upon another.
 
Cleanup post




So I ponder my response
to her acerbic comment.
Wondering if the dark pleasure
resulting from a sarcastic response
are worth the scratches
that would result.
Offering such commentary
would be like stepping into a cage
with a sultry cat
pacing restless.
Sometimes I think it is that energetic
nature making comments
rather than true irritation.
And that the rants that
it generates
are more for the erotic fallout
after we dispose of angry words
and gestures.
Perhaps this time
I will offer up my throat
rather than cracking the whip.
Shortcut all the diatribe
and move straight to
Machiavelian makeup sex,
where the scratches offered
become a non sequitor.




so if a halo were just a detail
scrounged up from a thought
as if the look she offered
innocence
catholic girl in white and tights
painted over flesh
and blood
red lips that offer pensive thought
okay no way
can I think with thoughts
of blood red lips
pensive in my dreams
or my desires
not that she questions my desires
nor has she questioned her defiler
ever molesting her in the day
dreams of the night




petulant lips
taunt me
with that pout
(oh yes you know which one)
or that sultry smile
that leaves me tense
oh to be that tense
for hours at time
when light cascades
into night
and I forget
to close the front door
forget to take off my sock
forget my fucking name
oh yes I said fucking
all because




digress me baby
and make it hurt
once more and forever
dreams dried up upon our skin
as desire
and I've tasted your scream
in my mouth
tastes salty sweet
or salty sweat
as I've taken all I can
and wanted more
even the scratches on my back
as you make me groan
my misery
into your sex
sounding wetly in the night
with two fingers
or a cock
plunging in and out
tasting blood
where you bite my lip
or I bit my lip
not that I could stand sorrow
or desire
wrapped tight
as sheets in the night
restrained our mortality
or morbid nature
I know not which




So you think about a kiss,
or you think about the kiss.
THE kiss.
Soft lips caressing
soft lips
and hips to caress
with lips
and why are your legs
wrapped around my head.
Wait.
That is foreshadow
for our kiss that wrapped
arms around each other
left me
boneless.
Leads to panting,
but that might be because
I breathe
only every other minute.
Tick, tock
on the clock
and our bodies make a metronome
until we shudder.
That is daydream
of my desire.




So who are the words for today?
Metaphors.
Words are metaphors
for me.
Or maybe metaphors are words.
So the words becomes tears
when I feel like crying.
Become kisses
when I feel affection.
Caresses when I want to offer
desire.
But what are the words
when they all come out hollow?
The aged tree,
just waiting for that storm,
comes crashing down
crushing anything in the path.
I understand the words.
Finding meaning in the silence
is what is hard.
And there is silence
after the storm.
 
If you don't get another book together,
I'm going to slap you naked
And hide your clothes.

Some very good stuff here

Thank you very much.
 
If you don't get another book together,
I'm going to slap you naked
And hide your clothes.

Some very good stuff here

Thank you very much.
The man is a freaking genius. I only read his stuff when Im prepared to feel inadequate. :D
 
The man is a freaking genius. I only read his stuff when Im prepared to feel inadequate. :D

I know that feeling well but i hold no hard feelings.

My two little poems on here go hide under the bed every time I open this thread.
 
I know that feeling well but i hold no hard feelings.

My two little poems on here go hide under the bed every time I open this thread.

i bet thats where mine go. I always wondered where they disappeared to :D

Cant really have hard feelings. The mans also a true gentleman. I still try to hate him for it tho. ;)
 
If you don't get another book together,
I'm going to slap you naked
And hide your clothes.

Some very good stuff here

Thank you very much.

Working on it. Blurt books take a while with poems being a page per. Should have something ready to go by fall if not sooner.



The man is a freaking genius. I only read his stuff when Im prepared to feel inadequate. :D

genius and foolish are in paradox. idiot savant maybe, but that would give savants all over the world a bad name...:D

He has a way with words for sure.

Words are nothing...:rose:
 
Working on it. Blurt books take a while with poems being a page per. Should have something ready to go by fall if not sooner.

How are sales going on the first book?

Enough to keep the liquor cabinet stocked i hope.
 
They say a picture
is worth a thousand words.
I need neither pictures
nor words
to understand my desire
for you.
Encompassed in love, in lust.
In a timeless moment
where hands are held,
smiles are shared
and lips touch.
 
From a comment I made...

Call me Merlin
seeking my Nimue.
Led astray
by some sultry angel
clad in black.
Or white.
Hands tethered by desire.
Or hemp.
No,
the hemp goes around my neck.
Kiss me Angel
with your Siren sigh.
 
From a comment I made...

Call me Merlin
seeking my Nimue.
Led astray
by some sultry angel
clad in black.
Or white.
Hands tethered by desire.
Or hemp.
No,
the hemp goes around my neck.
Kiss me Angel
with your Siren sigh.


You're seriously getting your perv on, you freak! :D
 
They say a picture
is worth a thousand words.
I need neither pictures
nor words
to understand my desire
for you.
Encompassed in love, in lust.
In a timeless moment
where hands are held,
smiles are shared
and lips touch.

Bravo, dear fool (who is not in any way such)

I also need neither pictures, nor... ( well perhaps the words)

to adore,,,

xoxo:heart:
 
Cleanup Post….

With a simple flight of fancy
she jets off to some exotic place.
Some dreamlike space
where sins are forgiven

and vices played with vigor
and style. She smiles
with thoughts on anything
but the mundane task of folding clothes.

Whose underwear does she fold today?
Or is it her's,
once tangled loosely
binding her ankles

while he pounded home his need,
her desire.
In some primal form of lust
where foreplay is limited to torn clothes

and forced penetration;
lubrication, his spit
dripping down her leg
as she feels her body crushed

upon the table
and leg muscles burn
from the stretch.
That's not all he stretches.

His impact leaves bruises
she'll find soon enough.
At least by tomorrow.
Not that she cares

now.
Back to the now
as the phone rings just shy
of her desire. Laundry to fold.



Smiles and laughter.
Casual touches,
just breaking into
my personal space.
I don't remember
what inanity I used,
but I still remember her reply.
"I bet you say that
to all the girls."
Yet, she picked up her purse
and we left.



I listened to her speak
of her strong convictions.
I nodded at the proper time,
with simple verbal cues
during moments of her silence
to reminder of my presence.
All the while I wondered
if I really should move on.
There is passionate,
and then there is passion.
I knew which one I wanted.



So, once again,
the celebration
got out of hand.
Late night fireworks
meant to dazzle
and delight,
left her burned.
Left her burned
despite her innocence.
The sorrow
that ensued was a ripple
on a large pond
touching all shores.
Some touched more than others.
We all have scars,
some uglier than others,
more painful,
visible to the naked eye.
Her scars faded with time
until it only showed
in the sadness in her eyes,
and only sometimes.
He could never admit
he was wrong.
But he was never comfortable
in that place afterwards.



Throwaway kisses.
Blowaway kisses
that leave her fingers
with a grandiose gesture.
And yet I feel that impact
from her lips
as she purses them and blows.
So kiss quickly given and forgotten,
in a quantity not detracting from
the quality,
are not trivial
nor meaningless.
But, instead a snapshot,
lunchtime
offer of love
and desire;
unrequited,
at least until later.
When we share that one kiss
that lasts all night.
Foreshadowing the wakeup exchange
that starts every morning.
 
This one is respeito's fault...


Let’s pretend,
shall we,
That I can read the past,
the future,
from the palm of your hand.
(Any excuse to touch you, anywhere.)
Start with feather touches
Along the smooth soft skin.
Move to lingering kisses
after a time.
Listening to your breathing,
I know when to take
each finger into my mouth
and suck.
If your eyes foreshadow the future
I dream of,
then my clairvoyant read
has me tasting you,
touching you,
all the way across your palm.
 
It's not every girl
that offers to kiss
and tell.
I wonder what secrets
of mine
of us
she could offer
would offer
to some less than casual lover.

Perverted I may be,
but sometimes I wish
her legs refused to close,
offered a view of her charms
at least to me
and perhaps
some other guy
with vague memories
of a love life
dissicated and blown away.

We are perhaps lovers,
perhaps not.
We may only be acquaintances
that share a fuck.
No love implied.
I would say share a bed
but we don’t always make it there.
And exclusivity
is not in our vocabulary.
Which is one reason
why she refuses
to accept the label of girlfriend.
 
I wanted to kiss her
that first time.
Offer up feelings
that in some way
I could not verbalize.
But I hesitated,
as some dissonant reflection
left her gagged by light.
Nature saying not today,
not this way,
not this girl.
I shuddered, sighed,
closed my eyes.
Kissed her anyway.
 
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