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…
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,…
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…
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…
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
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 – 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…
Large bills whisper-light in my right jeans pocket; I hardly notice it’s enough to buy groceries for a month— the weight: that insignificant. Bells on the door chime when I enter. I ask if he’s here because I’m ready— I think… I notice his eyes first, blue, when he surfaces from the back rooms, then…
April is the cruelest month… Well…for some, March has been, and April promises little respite. Many of us are in lock down, stuck at home, working from home, worrying away the hours at home. Others are first responders or essential workers out there exposing themselves to potential health hazards for the good of the rest…