The_Fool
smiling for the camera
- Joined
- Jan 14, 2003
- Posts
- 17,755
She speaks to me,
my lamia,
in reasoned words
about topics many would consider
improper,
in many cases, monstrous.
Her eyes, luminous,
as she lies upon bed
in her insouciant way,
offering her base nature
in a modest way.
I spiral out of control, I tremble.
Her auric skin glistens
in the moonlight.
starlight.
Celestial bodies paying homage.
Who am I to be a doryphore
drawing attention to imagined blemishes.
And I stumble with steps and words.
My mouth mumbles
as if I suckled from her.
But she only offers a cicatrix for a nipple.
Saving her tender flesh for someone
else more deserving.
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Her little whatsit,
strummed with taunting fingers.
As if fingers had tongues
to lick across
a hard little nub.
Her slight rocking motion
incites smiles
and more taunting.
Until she tires of her taunter
and demands satisfaction.
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eyes for the soul
nails for the skin
laughter for my ego
tears for my heart
pierce me
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wondering if she knows
how sexy a slouch
can be
curves scattered upon a couch
drawn long
by sighs
of relaxation
cat-like stretches
take my breath away
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content
with the content
of my thoughts
although
she graded me down
when I did not offer
full disclosure
I wanted something
to offer as a surprise
when the moment
was right
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I think she
keeps one nail long
just for causing pain
whether it be
dragging it down my back
or piercing my heart
at least she kisses
where she draws blood
and smiles
as she impales me
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Fast or slow,
her heartbeat offers
the pace of my love,
the rhythm of my soul.
Not a clock tick-tocking
time away.
A metronome
offering time,
consistent and timeless.
Timeless in the moment
when bodies intertwined
I lay listening to heartbeat.
Let our love
be the melody.
Let my smile
be the harmony.
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ponder darkness
ponder light
the depth of the breath
is directly proportional
to the exhale
elastic stretch
bind
snap
sanity is a ragged edge
walked frequently barefoot
over jagged thoughts
insanity is not always a chasm
waiting for a fall
but frequently a snowdrift
that over time
bogs one down
don't ask me of my thoughts
in darkness
that I would never tell you
in the light
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Some things you never get right.
Some things you can't get wrong.
Something floral.
That's what I remember of her
essence.
That and a string of pearls.
I've heard every woman needs pearls,
to go with that special dress,
that might just be a figment
of her imagination.
A string of pearls,
like some rosary
meant to count the memories
in her life.
I watched her peer off
into the distance
and caress each pearl.
Amazing how that simple
subtle strand
accentuated the curve
of her throat.
Not much left for us to say.
Maybe she should have responded
differently to my invitation for dinner.
Regrets.
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she leaned back
surprised
my face feeling hot
flushed
an interesting kink
sometimes repeated
pale flesh illuminated
by moonlight
showing nicely
pearls of wisdom
inspired
by words of lust
and a touch of desire