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Everyday Erotica

cello

draw the strings tight
pluck gently at each
note to tune
the sounds
that come from such
a creature

for its wails
pitches and crescendo
crush the air from my lungs
sweat that builds but
I
I am lost
in its bewitching music,

the muscles in my arms,
in my back drawn tight
like strung strings
of their own
as we push and pull
seeking harmony
in this mutual
communion
of instrument
and musician

and the sounds

the delicious sounds
she made,
the sounds yet to come
make me shake
 
todski28 said:
draw the strings tight
pluck gently at each
note to tune
the sounds
that come from such
a creature

for its wails
pitches and crescendo
crush the air from my lungs
sweat that builds but
I
I am lost
in its bewitching music,

the muscles in my arms,
in my back drawn tight
like strung strings
of their own
as we push and pull
seeking harmony
in this mutual
communion
of instrument
and musician

and the sounds

the delicious sounds
she made,
the sounds yet to come
make me shake
Click to expand...
not everyday. this is more.
it's been my total privilege watching your development as a writer, tods.

the tension you created within this piece work beautifully, stringing everything together :cool:
 
todski28 said:
draw the strings tight
pluck gently at each
note to tune
the sounds
that come from such
a creature

for its wails
pitches and crescendo
crush the air from my lungs
sweat that builds but
I
I am lost
in its bewitching music,

the muscles in my arms,
in my back drawn tight
like strung strings
of their own
as we push and pull
seeking harmony
in this mutual
communion
of instrument
and musician

and the sounds

the delicious sounds
she made,
the sounds yet to come
make me shake
Click to expand...

butters said:
not everyday. this is more.
it's been my total privilege watching your development as a writer, tods.

the tension you created within this piece work beautifully, stringing everything together :cool:
Click to expand...

I agree. The wonderful image that came to mind when I read tod's poem: the cello with slow hands on the strings the way that love should be made, made all the more enjoyable when I thought of a violin, frenetic energy quickly spent; how men, being men, sometimes "make love," and what many women would like from men.

This is erotic poetry at its best.
 
butters said:
not everyday. this is more.
it's been my total privilege watching your development as a writer, tods.

the tension you created within this piece work beautifully, stringing everything together :cool:
Click to expand...


Thank you, step back and appreciate yourself for a minute as well, without your encouragement and voice at times, I would have packed it in, so I am glad you appreciate my development, but know that I appreciate your time effort and support for without it, the name "todski28" would be as distant a memory as some of the other names on lit.


greenmountaineer said:
I agree. The wonderful image that came to mind when I read tod's poem: the cello with slow hands on the strings the way that love should be made, made all the more enjoyable when I thought of a violin, frenetic energy quickly spent; how men, being men, sometimes "make love," and what many women would like from men.

This is erotic poetry at its best.
Click to expand...

GM, I would also like to extend a thankyou for the words of encouragement as well as critiques that made me think on where and what I was doing as a writer, though on some things we may differ a little in opinion you have been a big inspiration to the development of my writing. so I say thank you as well, and glad that something I wrote gets a nod of approval from two writers I hold in my top ten poets is a wonder.

regards Todski
 
she is flesh and blood
not some porcelain doll
or
some precious crystal
that is to be put on the highest shelf
adorned, alone, viewed but never
touched

this pedestal has choked her
stolen the breath from her lungs
driven a wedge deep enough
for her to not realise
the beat of her heart
the curve of her hip
the firmness of her breasts
are to be desired
to be held
to be used
for mutual satisfaction

that the heat in her cheeks
the swell of her clit
these things are flesh and blood
not a blow mould statue
or antique heirloom
not a tapestry
but a finger painting
to be traced, enjoyed
indulged in feeling
once this paged is used
grab another

not seeking perfection
but a connection
to you
and your heart
so take her down from the pedestal
and play
laugh
dream in sepia and velvet
anointed in her passion
awash in her desire
for god sakes
let her breathe
 
I woke up cold
the sweat of wanting you
clinging to my skin like
morning dew
that sweet scent drifting over
my bed
where there is nothing of you
that doesn't reside within me
your skin hasn't touched these sheets
your laughter hasn't echoed in these walls
yet you are here
as real to me as the breeze
that puckers my nipples
and makes me shiver
as present as the slick wet
on my thighs
a need as palpable as my pulse
and though it eludes my grasp
as I slip from sleep
you are not lost
to my forgotten dream
 
Sliding silk over my eyes
you work in near silence
soft footsteps
careful movements
tempting my curiosity

Cords strung around my wrists
chosen to faintly chafe
a slight distraction
of tactile sensation
reminder that you're master
in this game

Warm breath caresses an ear
cool air tantalizes dampened flesh
of parted thighs
a shiver runs through my body
your low chuckle echoes
in my mind

Then you take me
traipsing over peaks and valleys
exploring hidden pathways
your husky whisper narrating
the mesmerizing journey
holding me captive
well beyond physical bonds
 
Last edited:
I can smell dew
on cool grass
the fresh scent of autumn rain
that falls light and delicate
as chilled wind blows
the small shivers that come
with the gentle fall
of a floating leaf
a little death
that falls from a thick stem

one of many to come
as the beauty of the colours
the reds and tanned earth tones
trickle across my sight

I can taste the rain
feel it's wonder
cause shudders on my flesh

I want to join in
this shedding of weight
and lay in the wet grass
 
Baby, I don't know why this
pinned to the wall
brick shavings under my fingernails
consumption is so much more
than the simple lust surging through me

it's all hard in these times
where propriety dies and inner demons
break the bonds of clothing

I want this meal over
so I can eat my desires
and you can swallow yours
 
Last edited:
Desire shrouded in black
hides in the dark recesses of your mind
climbs the black on black stairs
leather clad,
bound and bent
contortions under the surface of your smile
pull twist
grind against the wall
it pushes against the supple skin of your lips
licks along the length of limbo
the do I,
don't I hesitation

embrace the dark
the swell of nights swollen kiss
the hand prints that press
sweaty embrace and candle wax drops
that hiss against flesh
followed by ice cubes
that raise the skin to life

cotour yourself around
the lines you drew nudge
the edges and inch closer to
release from control

guide me with your entreaties
to supplicate my will to the desire
that hides in the dark
climb the stairs with me
 
The Science Editor's Secretary

My body will go through a meltdown,
the reactor so hot, fusion won't slow
down the uncontrolled fission
of my mind from my soul

My mons will become the rise
that so completes the Martian
landscape, until it erupts
in volcanic collapse

One hour seems an eternity
when I'm so horny such drama
of reaction and geothermics
seems completely plausible.

Subvert this course and let me
fuck you now. Right here.
The supply closet can be locked
from the inside.
 
I don't understand why
the thought of you rises
as the tides and seas do
are you the moon
and I
lost in the orbit of your gravity...

fell under the sway of you
the addiction of tincture-smiles
laughter that trickles down
like chocolate milk
rich creamy
and full of sweet sugar
that salivates my taste buds

comparisons don't seem apt enough
yet I grasp at the edges to try to
emote what you do
and how you touch me
as if you are the first warmth of sunlight
on a frostbitten morning
or hot gloves straight from the drier
the rich scent of butter, onion and bacon frying

I bend my wants for you
I can't change who I am
but I can try to make my habits
less painful for you
that
I think I can manage
 
Nevermind,

(. . . hard, wet, sudden, I wanted, you were, we both, the way you, etc.)
 
Last edited:
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