How These Things Begin

October 5, 2015October 5, 2015 / erotii / 2 Comments

I imagine the power of sexual energy attracts them. They are varied and persistent and will not be ignored. They cloud my mind with thoughts I blush to share, but the rolling breaths of arousal push me forward and I find myself licking my already parted lips and whispering them into my lover’s ear.

I watch his eyes darken and his breathing change. The energy in his body changes once again… I hear another whisper and before it has ceased its erotic attack the same words are leaving my own lips. My lover’s breath catches and then he smiles sweetly and looks me directly in the eyes: “Damned if you don’t have one filthy mind, girl! Now get on your knees…” I laugh as I move for him.

And this is how it started.

Love.

Mare

July 22, 2015July 22, 2015 / erotii / 1 Comment

She bleeds another’s dreams,
holding her white hands reverently to her chin,
preying in the quiet of a fallen night.

Her lips moistened with fear,
a placid grace plastered upon dead features.
No prisoners to take.

Feral; brutish breath seeking lips of stone,
the coldness returning nothing she craves,
her gravity alone shifting this spirit’s calm.

Armed with arid lies to twist a mind,
a bitter seed beneath her tongue,
her lips scrape slowly across a soul.

Passions flare and evanesce,
an eyelid’s flutter scattering shifting shapes
and love sleeps softly by.

The words set softly on her lips
still wet with blood of broken minds;
a sacrament that needs no prayer.

‘Sleep’ she says in whispered tone
and eyes fly open to twisted light.
‘Still’ she sighs in a knowing groan
and limbs sit fixed against their will.
‘Rest’ she teases through gritted teeth
and shadows swarm from gloom-lit walls.

Boredom sways, she drifts away,
infected tide breaking in a terrored night;
placid grace attending a placid fright.

Thoughtless

July 20, 2015February 18, 2016 / erotii / Leave a comment

These broken fingers… they continue tapping and dancing about the keys, clicking against the desktop, tramping and tapping around the steering wheel. Can’t stop them. They count the seconds in cut and synchronous rhythms refusing to stop for a moment’s rest. They dance about my own lips venturing in to glance against the enamel of my teeth, tasting the drama expressed by such thoughtless movements.