• Experience,  Poetry,  Poetry Challenge 2020

    I Swallow

    It may be a deceitful title…as you are likely expecting something much sexier than what you are about to read…but… I’ve not been writing much on the blog as of late. My work life has taken me down a road I never planned nor wanted to travel, and now I am online much of the day, planning, writing emails, attending virtual meetings. It’s laborious and leaves me wanting nothing to do with the computer after I am done. Yesterday, I got out the magnetic poetry…just to get away from the screen for awhile…and in an effort to find a way to create in a non-digital atmosphere. I piled those little…

  • Poetry,  Poetry Challenge 2020

    Sleep

    Like steam rising on water, your heat is obvious from a distance– so I slip out of my shorts before sliding in beside your sleeping form. Scent escapes the separated sheets– musk sweat and cologne drifting up and out. Your body responds instinctively, rolling inward and wrapping itself possessively around me. Rough hands begin to rove, unthinking, under my shirt and between my legs… I very softly tell you “not now,” though I know you do not hear… Your fingers sleepwalk across my flesh, wandering, like a man lost in the dark. Crooked and repetitive, you keep circling back to where you have already been. Heat-drugged and slow, we sigh…

  • Photography,  Poetry,  Poetry Challenge 2020

    The Garden

    The featured image used here was originally taken by Mr. D and was used for Sinful Sunday. Scroll down for the color version. On first sight, you placed my heart in your hands, like an apple filling perfectly the palm, where every nuance, dent, and ridge fit each of mine. You took fruit to lips, unearthing hidden knowledge: softness beneath taut flesh. It was tender and sweet, and you knew me then. My core, over time, has absorbed into your own, and our melded seeds have birthed an orchard to provide a lifetime’s worth of everything we need.   (The color version.) Day 7 Topic: “G” – Garden

  • Poetry,  Poetry Challenge 2020

    Come

    Your words enter me, violating my sleep, soft and distant at first– an underwater sound– but clearer, stronger, as my consciousness rises to meet them. Come for me. Eyes closed, feeling your thick nearness, heat hovering heavily over collar-bone, breasts– abdomen heaving under the pressure of hindered release. I could burn the room with my thighs, slightly spread in silent acceptance. Your voice vibrates into me, a midnight secret… enter me, push me, pull me, pliant within your grasp. Come to me, in the dark, uninvited– and writhing to meet your quiet need, I’ll come for you. Day 6 Topic: “F” – Feeling (sense)

  • Poetry,  Poetry Challenge 2020

    Elegy for Innocence

    Poetic Form: Elegy The elegy began as an ancient Greek metrical form and is traditionally written in response to the death of a person or group. Though similar in function, the elegy is distinct from the epitaph, ode, and eulogy: the epitaph is very brief; the ode solely exalts; and the eulogy is most often written in formal prose. The elements of a traditional elegy mirror three stages of loss. First, there is a lament, where the speaker expresses grief and sorrow, then praise and admiration of the idealized dead, and finally consolation and solace. It is more than twenty- five years gone, that tight-lipped innocence, held close out of…

  • Experience,  Photography

    Sinful (“Stay at Home”) Sunday

    The last three weeks have felt like months — our routines changed, our lives contained between the same walls and windows, with very few expeditions in to the outside world. I’m not a worrier, and I’m not under financial hardship during this “stay at home” order. I’ve had a bit of stress, trying to learn new ways to do my job and connect with people outside of my home. I’ve had to become even more conscious about work/life boundaries, now that people are contacting me via email regarding work around the clock. And, as a person who required routine to create momentum, I’ve had to establish new routines to keep…

  • Blogging & Writing,  Opinion

    Smut Marathon – Round 3 Feedback

    To read all of the entries for round three, please click HERE. I’ve learned something about how I judge – my first impressions and first loves are not always the ones that I choose as my topic picks. Here’s why: what strikes my fancy upfront doesn’t always pass the muster when I apply my criteria for judging. The Criteria 1) The story must be well-written. If it is poorly written, I will be turned off immediately, before I even have a chance to see if the story meets the remaining criteria. 2) There must be a story…elements of plot, such as an enticing setting, rising action, conflict, tension, a climax…

  • Poetry,  Poetry Challenge 2020

    Dawn

    the sun teases dark, rippling waves– heaves glittering light across shadow a silent invitation right before dawn her bright curves kiss the sea– slowly setting the world ablaze the pink sky surrounds her blushing furiously Day 4 Topic: “D” – Dawn

  • Poetry,  Poetry Challenge 2020

    Clubbing

    She wants to fuck you in the filthiest ways, her little cherry-print dress pushed up over her ass. She wants you to stick your fingers everywhere, to lick her like ice cream…melting, quick with full tongue, as she drips down your hand and forearm. In the alley a few streets away from the bouncing club, she leads you into the shadowy safety of dark, pulls you into her hard, puts her hand directly between your legs, lifts you boldly, and you stiffen. She slides her skirt above her hips, exposing a sex so hungry it almost speaks the words “fuck me” itself. Where her thighs meet, heat pulses, breath falling…

  • Poetry,  Poetry Challenge 2020

    Vasoline

    She – in the pink phosphorescence of her combustible world – sinks into opium transcendence, spread across the lush hotel bed, silver-sequined spandex skirt pushed high up on her hips, legs open to receive her daily bread. He – martini in hand, cigar between lip-stick smeared lips bruised by kisses, swollen with need, bitten by his own teeth in anticipation of heaven. She – feathers, glossy yellow sashaying across tiny hairs standing like soldiers on her flesh— so awake, so aware, so resolved to what will touch her muscled thigh, glory in the smoothness there and there. He – drifts and slips and slides with an air of indifference. But…

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