Dark Pleasure

A dark pleasure.

You were the one

to lead me

into this shadow dream.

You beckoned me

with your penetrating stare,

your high cheekboned haughtiness,

your eyes impassive and stony,

your cheeky necklace of carved bones.

You tantalized me

with omens and portents,

with aggressive kisses,

pretty words full of poison,

seductive lures.

Until I surrendered

eagerly

to your naked depravity.

You hijacked my body

like a thug,

breaking and entering,

violently taking over,

until all I wanted

was you.

Then you were an inside job.

You were inside me

and I needed you

to stay

with me.

I sought primal wholeness

in you,

like a snake eats its tail.

Like a shaman eats

the vine of the dead,

seeking completion

at the edge of the abyss.

La petite mort.

You annihilate me,

my lover,

yet still

I soar.

Wasted

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I am wishing for a small thing
to give me pleasure.
Just something little.
A gesture of sweetness,
like my lover’s fingers rubbing the soft skin of my forearm
as he held me;
a touch of comfort
in the rain.

My heart grows drunk
on small sips.

I am a lightweight,
easily intoxicated
by smiles,
or better yet kisses.

But you are dangerous.

A shot of tequila,
aged well and strong.

Your words of love
go down smooth
like liquid fire.

I could easily
drink a case
and end up wasted.

Touch Me

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Even the slightest touch
of your fingertips on my skin
enraptures me.
Sets my imagination
smoldering
with the vivid fire
of wanting.

I want you to touch me
all over.

I want you to lay your fine shadow across mine
and envelop me in the warmth
of your heavy darkness.

I want you to touch my life
with your hands,
caress the aching length of it,
comfort me
with your flesh.

Touch me, my lover.
Touch me
deep inside
until I cry
with ecstasy.

Before I Die

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Before I die, will I think

of making love

to you?

 

When I have swam

through the eternal sea

of life’s consciousness,

and endless memories are bubbling up

from murky depths,

will I run the fingers of my mind

over the faded photograph

of your eyes?

 

Will the scent of your skin

fill the intangible air

of my thoughts?

 

My love, I want to let you go.

 

But I may wish

to feel your lips on mine

one more time.

The Eye

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You gave me the eye the other night.

Looked me down hard.

The air between us cracked for a hot moment

with a bolt of ambiguous desire.

 

I was struck,

became helplessly flustered.

 

Grew flushed and wanting.

 

You sauntered by me,

your chest puffed out meaningfully in my direction,

projecting rough masculinity like a magnet

that you know has the power

to draw me in.

 

If only time, distance, and social decorum

did not stand in the way,

I would have cut the space between us in two

with the sharpness of my fierce and unceasing heart,

rained a torrent of kisses on your lips

and unleashed the wiles of my native passion upon your body

like a ferocious and tender storm.