Eroticism

What does one yearn for? But the world, for the vastness of sensation, but also for the small things those perfect days which fall like an invisible rhythm. One yearns for … understanding.. even love is nothing without it. When one loves without understanding, then it is as if you’ve kissed the empty shell of an egg, brittle.

To be seen, some would say. But more than this, to be felt, not in terms of touch alone, but sensed. Because everything begins with sense, with the awareness of something, a connection, trust, a tethering that does not explanation, nor celebration- it is as true as life is true.

Awareness, then. Here are some simplicities I yearn for.

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Ooohh all the simplicities, I've yearned for ... the touchstones of a perfect partnership (in order of the images):

a soulful kiss
a closeness, with simple contact as its own reward
sharing a silent moment, within a common pursuit
an unexpected kiss, non-amorous ... all the same ... wonderful
the comfort of sleeping together
surrendering to each other in mutual exhaustion ... the surrender is blissful
 
Ooohh all the simplicities, I've yearned for ... the touchstones of a perfect partnership (in order of the images):

a soulful kiss
a closeness, with simple contact as its own reward
sharing a silent moment, within a common pursuit
an unexpected kiss, non-amorous ... all the same ... wonderful
the comfort of sleeping together
surrendering to each other in mutual exhaustion ... the surrender is blissful
This could be turned into a poem!
 
Dreams of women now fill my mind, and in those dreams, there is an endless stream of sensation, cascading waters, warm velvet flesh upon flesh.

And as we kiss, the waters ebb and flow, caressing hands a symphony, a prothalamion. Sometimes the women kiss me tenderly, at other times, they take, colonise, claim mine as their own, and the more they , the more I desist.
 
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Dreams of women now fill my mind, and in those dreams, there is an endless stream of sensation, cascading waters, warm velvet flesh upon flesh.

And as we kiss, the waters ebb and flow, caressing hands a symphony, a prothalamion. Sometimes the women kiss me tenderly, at other times, they take, colonise, claim mine as their own, and the more they , the more I desist.
This is a very different style to your previous posts...But loving it nonetheless!!
 
Then there are women who are just....women...forms of beauty, just women being, women who are distant shores, traces of mountain ridges, empty plains of desert beneath which life seethes. These women I long for, but the longing itself takes away from the fuel that drives it, and so I let them be, these women, and like Keats, I must be contented with the the beauty I cannot taste, but which is all the more beautiful for it.

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Then there are women who are just....women...forms of beauty, just women being, women who are distant shores, traces of mountain ridges, empty plains of desert beneath which life seethes. These women I long for, but the longing itself takes away from the fuel that drives it, and so I let them be, these women, and like Keats, I must be contented with the the beauty I cannot taste, but which is all the more beautiful for it.

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Oh my! This is breathtaking
 
@softbird Firstly thank you for this thread. I think it’s very special. Lit is usually known for its sexual perversions. Nothing wrong with that! That’s why I’m on Lit! But your thread is like an oasis. That’s how I feel about it.. I don’t log on much but these days when I do, I scroll through your thread…

Secondly, I know the tendency you have is to post images that aren’t too sexual, but more erotic, suggestive, so please forgive me with this image.. it’s actually a gorgeous black and white portrait of a transgendered woman, there’s a lot of skin here, which may not be the aesthetic you’re looking for, so please let me know if I’ve crossed the line and I’ll delete my post
 
Not at all! This is quite gorgeous!! I should branch out. In fact I’m sorry if I’ve been too selective.. but you’re more than welcome to post your images here..
 
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There are borders and walls and lines that we construct and erect and draw. They tell us, do not cross, do not venture beyond this.

But certain moments present us with little windows, glimpses, and when they do, a vast cosmos of sensation is unleashed.
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