Consumption

I love when one of my poems from my deleted blog finds me.

Deeper Than Skin

Always, I am in control, until I am not.

It is then I leave marks deeper than skin.

I am slowly refinding some of my old poems from the pre-apocalypse, tumblr style.

Slow Burn

Tonight I will fill you slowly. 

My cock will push past the resistance of your swollen flesh

tortuously patient,  savoring every inch of your depths, 

every inch of your heat.  I will take the time to feel you, 

your wet warmth a tight embrace.  every nerve of my shaft

in ecstasy as you body surrenders it’s secrets. 

This too is control,  knowing your hunger,  knowing your desire to run amok with passion,  I take you on my terms,  a slow burn

desperately wanting to roar its heat, a bonfire of lust. 

Hopefully Enough

Hear them rustling behind you. Footsteps. How many? I promise you. More than you expect. Hopefully enough that when they are done, you will realize how desirable you are, and not just to me.

Consent

It has always about what you offered. And how far I would take it.

That does not change, but know this, there comes a place of offering where I will take all of you to a new place that will leave us both transformed.

Another poem from my old banished blog. Thank you all who saved and share these.

Unconventional

Who every made you believe, lied. Just because no one else has appreciated the curls or the curves or the drive or the emotions and all the beautiful abnormalities that set you apart, does not mean I am wrong in how I see you. It simply means, at long last, after a lifetime of settling, neither of us need to.

So bear yourself to me, one more time. Show me the flesh that is mine. Let me love you with all the tenderness of a night with wine and conversation before we break out the whips and the chains each of us finding satisfaction finally, without limits, unconventional, and so right.

By the Time I am Sated

Ah, the time I will take with you. Your arms tied high. Your legs spread. Dressed in nothing but heels and a collar. Teetering. Exposed. Unsure where you are, only that for the next few hours, every square inch of your body will be touched. At times softly. At times roughly. Your body mine, and by the time I am sated, your soul as well.

When and Where

My hand reaches and finds your thigh,  resting there where all can see, wondering,  like you,  if,  or rather when,  my hand will reach up and claim you,  claim your moist heat for my own,  opening you,  probing you,  never satisfied until you cry out in surrender to your own pleasure. 

They can not know as I know,  that were I to slide my hand slowly up your silken thigh,  right now,  right here,  you would allow it,  the perfect submissive,  always willing to take,  or give pleasure at the moment of my desire. 

===================

Tumblr killed my former site, The Other Poems, after eight years of poetry and over 12,000 readers and friends. If you like this poem, please consider reposting it so I can find my friends and followers again. Thank you.

What Only I Hear

Cry out. Shout. Gasp. Writhe.

Here you are mine and no one will hear your fear, your surprise or your surrender. You are mine. Now and forever.

A Memory in Pink

She wore pink lingerie,

And I looked at her, no gazed at her

Like it was the first time.

That is the way it has always been with her,

Ever new. Perfect for all the reasons she believes

herself not to be.

Perhaps it was not on for long,

But it did not matter. She wore it for me,

knowing full well the effect the gift would have on me.

Passion enflamed. Senses suddenly vibrant.

Heart lost to her yet again. My heart touched

As much as my body.

It is true that she submits to me,

But I am forever lost in her.

Both of us, exactly as we should be.

At Our Best

Every time I see you anew, I am unsure. A tender kiss? A ravaging? Domination or a focus on your beautiful pleasure? At our best, it's all four.