i supine to rest and proudly wither after you’ve painted my cock a glossy crimson.
you light me a cigarette you know i won’t accept.
the interrogation starts :
“you never smoke after i suck you, did you know that?”
the interrogation ends :
“i am a punctuation nazi, when it comes to life. why add a full stop when an exclamation point has already been used?”
worn down, worn out, worn through.
i’m done with sex.
tired of fucking.
bored with it all.
orgasms bore me. women bore me. sensuality is over rated.
that’s it folks, i’m giving it up.
starting today, i’m living a life of celibacy. no more women, no more sex, no more fun.
- said diirrty, never ever.
Turn off the light. Close your eyes.
Feel my fingers on your neck.
Feel your dress slide to the floor.
Feel the breeze brush your skin.
Feel the radiant warmth of mine.
Feel my thigh brush yours.
Feel the sheet on your body as you lay down.
Feel my palms on your back.
Feel your aches slip away beneath my touch.
Feel your cunt moisten.
Feel my weight over you.
Feel my grip of your hips.
Feel my stubble on your neck.
Feel my breath on your cheek.
Feel my gentle kiss.
Feel my need.
Feel the anticipation.
Feel my penetration.
Feel your accommodation.
Feel my sex.
Feel your lust.
Feel my thrust.
Feel my cock, fucking your body, fucking your cunt, fucking your love, fucking your mind.
Feel me, feel us, feel this perfection.
Feel our dream wash over and course through you.
Feel your rise.
Feel my fever.
Feel your control, lost with mine.
Feel my seed, filling your hungry lust.
Feel my strength, fade and fall.
Feel my embrace.
Feel my caress.
Feel my naked honesty, vulnerability, and self – in your arms.
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,
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.
Roses can be white
Are violets blue?
One thing is certain,
– I want to fuck you.
my eyes were closed
and you took me
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.
you let me come,
i opened my eyes,
and only then, i realised,
you were never actually there.
if my world
was made up
a four post bed
with crisp white sheets,
a warm Pacific
a fresh breakfast,
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.