Den of Iniquity

Trails of ink follow each whorl
Each loop a kindred spirit to
Its neighbour.
Every finger tainted
Both palms marred
Sticky, like the soul that bears them.
The use of pitch black against
Aged parchment creates
Stark images of innocence
Captured ruefully.

Exiting through gaping, arched stone maw
Into the mired maze of tombstone teeth
Footsteps taking her away from her
Deal with fallen
Towards
His den of iniquity.
Waiting for deep, delectable laughter
Indicting more than mood
She stands and strips
Every scrap of clothing
Evidence
Of her time in candle light.

Written for Catherine. Thank you. Xxx

Magician

Such naughty delights in Betty’s place,
Whisked away by magic fingers,
Spices assail,
Assuage sensory need,
Persian rug ‘neath naked toes,
Heat building in the narrow,
Gap shrinking,
Eyes blazing,
Steam rising from the sunken bath,
Shall we wash your sticky, sweet fingers?
Or savour the scent that lingers?

For my tearoom companion.

Here, now.

A bed of words,
Awaiting me,
A form of light lifts me,
Elevates my sobriety,
From dark, sticky addiction,
That drags me down,
Your fingers reach,
Comb through my soul,
Straightening curls that escape,
Their circled bonds.

Dedicated to a black cat lover.

Until…

Fighting sleep,
Undone by useless words,
Bouncing inside an empty skull,
Echoing harsh truths and half-baked lies,
Perchance to dream,
Stealing from Will,
Rational trains of thought,
Have left the station,
Behind,
Nothing but me,
Stream of consciousness,
Punctuated by sarcasm,
Me, myself and I,
And lies I tell myself,
Until the next time.

Tomorrow

Scruples extended, exploded into liberties taken,
Mind played like a drum kit,
Caressed, admired then beaten all to hell,
Drag me forwards love,
Sick of turning circles in the back,
Tell my skin tales of new born ideals,
False promise be gone,
Wish you back to the dank well that bleeds,
Pull my mind to yours love,
Flick the switch that crackles,
Illuminate sincerity,
Forge interlinked fingers of unknown joy,
Freedom in two.

Sirius Awakening

The moment when our bodies must separate,
lead weight of loss,
protests.

Movement without volition,
gravitational,
pull of magnets always meant to attract.

Your hand,
strokes a tender path over warm skin.

Candy blushed cheek,
down valley of balletic neck,
playing notes of collar bone,
pausing in advancement.

Tracing swirls of awe around peaks,
lingering at puckered tip,
onwards now,
over quivering stomach,
to rounded hip.

Where your hand curls around,
gripping, owning,
pulling me in.

Bodies moulding, folding together,
legs entwined,
heartbeats and breaths synchronising,
slowing.

Protected from the outside world,
drifting off into each other’s dreams.

Scars and Miscreants

Pushing out,
raised and burned into velum,
stark, harsh, behemoths.

Faking healing of wounds,
eking out a frivolous existence,
curling, curving, trembling lips.

Soul scratching behind closed doors,
hemmed in by high standard deviation,
imprisoned with devil’s forked-tongue whispers.

Stirring the hornets with vicarious abandon,
lunging at deep red stings and vibrant violet skies,
aching with need and dripping in silent angry screams.

Emotion filters in drip by drip creating warmth in frozen stanzas,
stunning the voids into submission whilst caressing each molecule,
coaxing a supplication, a ceasefire, a wanton being of miscreant sensibilities.

Fields of Vision

Piercing body armour never easier,
Defences rusted and left to swing,
Strengths benign,
Weakness apparent, abhorrent, adolescent,
Raging anguish rushes veins,
Splitting sideways thoughts first slice,
Conquered checks mystify even blessed moans,
Turning deviant eyes to bloody words,
Evident bliss undone, unbound, untied,
Crushing distant bubbles before they drift,
Sunrise bodes well for circles timed,
Sunset carries a path into black sight.

Solitude

Satin smooth, worn through many uses,
moulded ergonomically by precious touch,
afforded sanctuary, connected bliss,
this seat of conscious making.

Carved from ancient rock,
layered by history’s leaden fingers,
singular space,
bubble outside of time’s strict tracks,
breaths taken in this throne can be cherished.

This is where she visits to tame hurricanes,
the void of inexplicable calm allows thoughts to,
detangle and create cobwebbed lineage,
her blessed communion in battered walls of skull’s cavern,
taken, needed, loved,
entranced in solitude.

Languid

Leaning holds meaning,
showing his intent towards her in the incline,
forming a framework to demonstrate desire,
touching without hands, through double layers,
connecting future moves with past words.

Eyes locked showing surprise,
hers at his interest,
head tips and lowers as lips are licked,
corners curl as he descends decadently eking out,
each second before contact,

Pupils dilated to discs of obsidian delight,
reflecting his approach,
breath mingles as eyelids droop,
he whispers onto her lips,
“I need you”,
she quivers, every muscle held taught in anticipation.

Sweet contact,
a brush, a peck, a lick by pink point,
such tiny amounts of nectar sipped,
creating dizzying cornucopia of lust filled haze,
he pulls back to assess,
she gives her weight to his support,
languid bliss in every cell,
from that first kiss.

Inspired by @Red_Sekhmet, thank you. x