After

I love it when I find a poem from my deleted blog that I can repost to my new on. In this case the poem found me. A Reader from London refound me and shared two. Thank you!

Worshiped

I know. And you know every flaw I own. But for this moment, you at my feet, draped in lace and gauze, I feel worshiped. Worthy.

By now

By Now

By now you should know. Never say you are mine to do with unless you mean it.

A Different Kind of Art.

Stop. Just like that. Let me admire you a moment. Each curve. The position of submission. A moment of perfection before the passion is unleashed and you are made a different kind of art.

The Moment You Were Mine

What was done or not done. What boundaries were crossed, and where pain and pleasure merged until each was forgotten, replaced by something more than either, consumption, writhing as one caress built on the next, And then, the perfect, most memorable moment of release.

I still carry that image, your face and soul lost to my touch, mine in the moment. Mine in eternity.

No Matter

No matter how far the fantasies made real take us. There is always another step. No matter what the barriers to their realization, there is way past them. No matter your enslavement, I promise you, there is more.

Deeper

Do not get me wrong.  I think you are beautiful.  I adore each curve,  the rise of your breasts,  Your hair, full, dark and wild.  The full, pink pucker of your lips,  the laughter and fear in your eyes.  You know this.  How many times have you caught me,  gazing, my eyes flowing like fiery silk on your every line,  hands caressing you  like the miracle you are?  But your beauty runs deeper,  fed by passion, the need to please,  all the way to helplessness,  and into the dark spaces we both crave. 

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This is one of the poems from my banished "The Other Poems" blog. I am always glad when I stumble on one, or find one on someone else's tumblr.

Every time you share a poem, you help me find one of the banned poems, and help me connect with lost connections because of the purge here.

Consumption

This is control. Not that I weild the knife, though I have often enough, but that you hold it, cut away the barriers, threaten your own perfect skin as you reveal the last of its silk for my consumption.

Truth and Belief

You are beautiful. The thing is that you do not have to believe it for it to be true.

I love finding my poems from my banned poetry site.

Not So Certain

Trust. One step further, then one step more, certain, but not so certain there is not a shiver at the touch of something unexpected, sharp as a knife, dangerous, and tender both.

Hi. I love your poems. And especially the themes that inspire your poems. “To The Man Who’s Cum Is In Her Mouth” is brilliant.

Are you also on twitter?

Thank you for your kind words.

Not any longer. When they canceled the original site, I did not start Twitter up again.