Follow sonreyes
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I want to be bit
To be bruised
The indents of your need molded into my flesh
The moment shared embedded into me
As I trace my fingers over the surface
To feel the word... Mine... Carved into my skin
Delicious memory creeping an upturn in the muscles in my lips
Growth of unashamed desire sliding across my thigh
An ache to relish
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if you are not willing to stretch your heart
to fit the things about her that normally would not fit
then you know nothing of love, of what is real
do not be afraid to stretch and expand your love
your heart has a magic to it, allowing it to envelop
it can except all the good and the bad of her
real love is comprised of both…
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could i, a devil in my own right,
tempt you to come this way?
whisper to me vagaries you keep,
reserved only for the late night
when you twist and squirm
in succulent spring heat— sleepless;
a sweet pink, those stirrings must be
as they plague your restless mind—
i, a succubus in my own right,
could release you, eat them from you;
you need only let out a sigh,
and succumb to the night.
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Intimate Trust
Crave,
Whimper,
Harder, please.
Tangle,
Fistfuls,
Hair like reins.
Grip,
Choke,
Ensnare my throat.
Intimate,
Seductive,
Unravel in pure trust.
Control,
Command,
Show no mercy.
Damn.
. . .
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I wrote politely
while imagining
my savage hands
upon hungry flesh
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That slight pain to make you sweat
Often times will make thighs wet
Fingers slip into needy a fold
Making hungry legs unfold
Open to a lovers temptation
Filling more then one sensation
Let my fingers quench that fire
More then touch is what I require
Unlocked mind and broken inhibitions
Letting me break all those limitations
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Follow sonreyes
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Mood...
Soft kisses
Hard sex
Fresh bruises
Lasting love
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Let me hold you until morning.
Six Sexy Words
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I’m
I’m obsessive, I’m compulsive
I’m the disorder
I’m bipolar, I’m paranoid
I’m the psychosis
I’m schizophrenic, I’m delusional
I’m the hallucination
I’m depression, I’m postpartum
I’m the personality trait
I’m misconception, I’m misconstrued
I’m the stigma
I’m paraphrenia, I’m paraphernalia
I’m the substance-abuse
I’m diagnoses, I’m treatment
I’m the medication
I’m hope, I’m faith
I’m the cure
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limbs soft, like strawberry jelly
basking in overhead afterglow,
eyes rolling, heart pounding;
the scent seductive,
a mouthful mesmerizing,
those gasps gratifying
at the nip of sweet jam,
tongue dancing on the lips
eager for another;
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Spring stirs
the unhinged
hunger
of arousal
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