the making of us

You walk into the bathroom while I shower, with a drink in your hand. You rest against the basin, sipping your drink, while your eyes dart between my eyes and my cock.

You watch me masturbate.

I am clean, anew, and I step out toward you. You towel me off, pausing to touch my hot skin, then lead me to bedroom.

We start to fuck,
slowly.

You absorb my heat from my thighs to your ass, from my chest to your hands, from my cock to your need.

And I drink the fire, passion, and rum from your lips as we kiss.

This is why they call it making love.

mind fucked

my eyes were closed
and you took me
there
to that place between
ecstasy and agony,
to that edge along
which temptresses live,
to that state where
minds lose reason, and will
power is forfeited.

then,
you let me come,

then,
i opened my eyes,

then,
and only then, i realised,
you were never actually there.

our four corners

if my world
was made up
of only,

a four post bed
with crisp white sheets,
a warm Pacific
morning breeze,
a fresh breakfast,
strong coffee,
and your softness
waking beside me,

i’d call off the search. i’d be a traveller no more. i’d restore my faith in everything good, and just live in that moment every single fucking day.

i’m in the mood

i’m in no mood for romance. i’m not seeking the thrill of the chase. i don’t care if your hair is a mess or that you haven’t had time for a shower.

i want your sweaty mess.
i want your instant attention.
i don’t care if we get caught.

i want to fuck you,
right
now