Kindred Strangers

[syndralinguini]

I was conceived right here on Lit, on the A to Z thread specifically. You hear of love at first sight between people, but this was different. Two verses, written days apart, thus cast into close proximity, succumbed to lust at first sight. They had such an instant affinity, they fucked each other then and there, in an act of poetic passion. And so it was I was conceived, in a rather unusual fashion.

Of course, as is often the case, it wasn't immediately apparent. The poetic lust demanded its existence, dragging the poets along for the ride. It was only weeks later, that they discovered the problem inherent in the form, and as piles of little verses grew all about on every side with no place to go, I was born of poetic expedience.

Tripping on McLuhan's message, when the piles were to be compiled, they found to their consternation that content is the medium's child. And that would be me, not just child, but medium in this seance to resurrect historical conversation for publication, while trying to keep its nuance. No wonder I'm schizophrenic!

And now I return to the place of my birth, or rather my conception. Birth took place a verse at a time, though time apart, received, savored and after reflection, replied in kind, each reply distinct to itself in form, but suddenly regarding the future and submission's coherent norm, trying desperately to fit into expectations. Just like any child.

So there's my long-winded explanation, my raison d'etre, and my return to my roots. I am a child of the threads. This poetic conversation will play out here, where it belongs. Publication is overrated. This is for fun, and because there can never be too much erotica on Literotica


Just for shits an giggles, here's where I was conceived:

a breathless cry
a beautiful cunt
dampness everywhere
delights each fevered gesture,
flowering gorgeously
heaven in jubilant kisses,
HOT!
iridescent juices
kissing, licking magic nub
loving moans nuzzling
open plump quivering rose
one perfect quim,
swollen, tasty
Utopia
releasing silver torrents
velvety wetness
under Verona's walls...
X-rated yet Zeffirelli.
X-tasy Yes!
zenith


Oh, and props to Tatagatha who saw through the published form and recognized it for what it is, an act of poetic exhibitionism, with you as voyeur, or rather, lecteur.

OK... here goes...

 

[syndralinguini]

Kindred Strangers

Scena Un: Piazza

 

[Kundalinguini]

He sees her across the piazza,
Two thousand years at her feet
Along with a flock of pigeons.
Her spring dress a sunsplashed sparkle,
Renewal defined by grey stones,
She tosses bread to the pigeons.
Her legs crossed so demurely
Part on the steps as she throws.
Beyond the pigeons she sees him.


— 03-21-2004

 

[Syndra Lynn]

Hand casually pocketed
His rugged face a lightening strike
Against her battered soul
Inspires unexpectedly a pulse
Like beating wings overwhelming her
Renewed desire thought long gone
Ancient as the stone on which he stands
Welcome as sun on her shoulders
Ethereal as smoky wisps above the piazza


— 03-21-2004

 

[Kundalinguini]

A moment past, her legs had held him,
Now their grip is broken by her eyes,
And by two hundred pigeons taking flight.
A moment passed, some hours are shorter,
Not a breath or blink, no sense of time,
While all around them shadows wheeled with light.
Even the piazza's statues seem to pause
A moment. Past the wings was that a smile?
Or his desire projected on her lips?


— 03-22-2004

 

[Syndra Lynn]

His gaze holds her as if bewitched
Her spirit lifts on pigeons’ wings
Zephyr kissed skirt hem tickles her thigh
Light wheels spin and shadows twist
Frozen moment etched in stone
In all the world, this man alone
Has reached across her tundra soul
To rekindle embers out of glacier spills
White-hot moment; he grins, she smiles at him


— 03-22-2004

 

[Kundalinguini]

Frozen piazza, whirlwind light and wings,
Suspended like time in amber.
A single movement, the fluttering skirt,
Draws his eye, a cape to his bull.
A lacy shadow flickers up her thigh.
Like shattering glass, an explosion of wings,
And the spell is broken, his stare apparent.
How long? A moment. How long is that?
He looks to find the answer in her eyes.


— 03-23-2004

 

[Syndra Lynn]

No time, no thought, don’t hesitate
Takes two steps, this is crazy, wait
Draws deep breath, casts out fears
Self imposed chastity over two years
Slowly deliberately shifting her weight
Clicking of sandal heels measures her gait
Sway of her hips, inviting his stare
Extending her hand, she looks in his eyes
Finds awe, passion, gentleness there


— 03-24-2004

 

[Kundalinguini]

The pigeons all settle, grey leaves to stone pond,
She steps. That's everything he needs to know.
His steps mirror hers, as an unseen bond
Pulls them down the steps to the piazza below.
Their eyes never losing their diamond-sharp gaze,
Each passing step is a journey complete.
Pigeons half seen through a warm sun-swept daze.
Moving like ripples out from their feet.
A parting Grey Sea where the two circles meet.


— 03-24-2004

 

[Syndra Lynn]

Divine intuition says nothing to fear
Generous intentions perfectly clear
Hand in hand she feels his pulse rise
Racing the heartbeat between her thighs
Can’t stop a tornado don’t stand in its way
Tsunami emotions wash all doubt away
If she’s going to do this, now is the time
She presses him close and whispers sublime
My name’s Syndra. Your place or mine?


— 03-25-2004

 

[Kundalinguini]

His desires rise, hearing her words in his ear,
It's certain she feels it, she's pulled him so near.
She presses against him, and smiles in his eyes.
He answers, a slow motion grind as he sighs.
Time has cast them as lovers before they've met,
The rain in the air, the leaf not yet wet,
But so unmistakable, both feel it fall,
As the scent of it in their souls holds them in thrall.
Luc, he says. My place? It's not far at all.


— 03-25-2004

 

[syndralinguini]

Kindred Strangers

Scena Due: Sensi

 

[Syndra Lynn]

Click. Oak door shuts world outside. Shadowed room
Scent? Lilac. Bookshelves stuffed, ceiling to floor
She does a quick spin barely taking it in
Classics and poetry, A. N. Roquelaure!
Eyes meet again as they did the first time
Runs a hand through his hair, touches his face
Pulls him into a kiss, long, slow and soft.
Like some wine? No I’m fine. Like your place.
I would like a shower, you mind? Leads the way.


— 03-26-2004

 

[Kundalinguini]

Seen through marble, tile and doors of glass,
Past splashing, shower-sparkled, dazzling ass,
Wide windows open on the sunlit hills
As background, but the foreground is what thrills.
He watches, nearly spellbound as she turns,
Wet trickles trace her as his passion burns.
At first he turned to leave, but she said Stay.
He'll join her soon, but now he lets her play,
A Botticelli dancer in the spray.


— 03-27-2004

 

[Syndra Lynn]

Exhibitionism, her favorite game
She swivels and swirls, breasts pressed to the glass pane
Fingers dance deftly over flesh without shame.
She spins around, one hand down on the tiled floor,
The other glides over her slit to explore.
While slowly she grinds her ass back on the door
Her ecstasy swallows her. How long’s it been?
She’s waited two years, saved her body for him
She needs him to touch her. You gonna come in?


— 03-28-2004

 

[Kundalinguini]

His tented robe cast aside, abandoned on terrazzo floor,
She holds her pose, glances back, he steps in though the misty door.
She feels his cock, a torrid touch, hard on wet, his scent a waft
That rises as she pushes back, she slides so slickly down his shaft,
Till standing in a wet cascade, his cock pressed all along her slit
She rocks a bit, front to back, his head rubs hard upon her clit.
He kisses just beneath her ear, her neck, her shoulder, here and there
And at the nape, a nip, a suck. She shivers, goosebumps in warm air.
He reaches down, and spreads her wide, and rocks in closer, wet and bare.


— 03-28-2004

 

[Syndra Lynn]

Impaled! She swoons, cries out, he steadies her
Jolt, thrill, electric pulse, vision fades to white
Frozen moment etched in time, she exhales a purr
He fills her completely and teases her clit
Nibbles and kisses the nape of her neck
She wants to slow down, wants it to last
But it’s out of control and coming on fast
Over wet shoulder she searches his eyes.
Ooh, such sexy eyes! Circuit complete between two souls


— 03-29-2004

 

[Kundalinguini]

Lightning in a velvet glove, the rod in silk and oil,
A supernova on the brink, blood about to boil,
She draws him swooning deeper in, he somehow steadies her,
And feels her clutch him deep inside, and trembles at her purr,
Then sliding out, he rams in deep, sheathed now to the hilt.
She's so deliriously wet, his knees begin to wilt.
He grabs her hips tight in his hands and rocks her in and out
Watching as he's swallowed by her pussy's perfect pout,
Emerging wet and glistening, the shower all about.


— 03-30-2004

 

[Syndra Lynn]

Her need for this moment too long awaited
Overwhelming desire momentarily sated
Now attentive to him, with a gleam in her eye
Pinning him to the wall, she rests one thigh
In the crook of his elbow, he murmurs a sigh
As she guides him in with a thrust of her hips
Swallows him whole and tightens her grip
She slowly pulls back then drives it back home
Nibbles his neck as he lets out a groan


— 03-31-2004

 

[Kundalinguini]

A thrust, a swoon, a clutch, a swallowed gasp,
Her moist caress enfolds him in its grasp
So exquisite, barely keeping his control.
Another thrust, and he emerges glistening,
Her pant a Siren's call, that drags him listening
Rushing onward like a wave crest poised to roll.
Her knee pulled up, a barely bated bite,
He spreads her legs, completely open wide,
And plunging in, he feels the ridges of her soul.


— 03-31-2004

 

[Syndra Lynn]

She sucks his tongue and bites at his lips
Riding the rhythm of his frenzied hips
With a pulse like a thousand wings beating, they rise
Watching each other, hypnotized
As the crest of the wave crashes over and rolls
Breaking hard on the shores of two passionate souls
And washes away every moment but this
Supernova of light, earthquake tremors of bliss
They remain long entwined in the shower’s cool mist


— 04-01-2004

 

[syndralinguini]

Kindred Strangers

Scena Tre: Linguetta

 

[Kundalinguini]

Breath at last calm, casual touches and smiles,
Settled back, skin resting cool on the tiles,
The passion they shared running warm down her thighs.
He runs a slick hand up to cup as she sighs,
A finger between her lips stroking her clean,
His silken soft touch leaves no doubt what it means.
He smiles, turns the water off, steps out the door,
Holds a towel open, his eyes hungry for more,
Caressingly drying her down to the floor.


— 04-01-2004

 

[Syndra Lynn]

She smiles and laughs, delighted gasps
Kindred stranger, her appetite’s match
Leg over shoulder, drawing him in
She opens out, exposes her core
To a man unknown three hours before
Just a touch, then fingers dip in,
A sigh, slight hum, explores her skin
With soft, hot tongue and velvet touch
She can’t believe her extraordinary luck


— 04-04-2004

 

[Kundalinguini]

Tracing a horseshoe just inside lips
So soft, so scented of their sex,
Spread like a banquet surrounded by hips.
Tasting of musk, all her own, and the sea,
Her perfume swirls cyclones through his head.
Could even Ulysses have withstood these?
His tongue's caress rolls around contours of skin
Seeking then finding this oyster's pearl,
Lifting to taste it, then sucking it in.


— 04-05-2004