Hypnotic Erotics

When we fuck it's gonna be like this
Over the top
Sonic boom
Last man and woman standing
Or laying down
Possibly doggy style
Maybe some hair pulling
Dirty Bomb

FEAR!
SHAME!
double-barreled
enemies of joy,
pleasure, new
experiences, and
a failure to be
true to inner desires.
You see the bulge,
it is UP...waiting and
YOU
know what it is,
and have an urge
to touch it or ask
permission to touch it.
You fight the desire,
letting the killers of desire
once again control you.
STOP!
Reject the shame and fear
go ahead and touch
the prize you deeply want,
if for only the moment
to experience the answer
to your wonder...
YES!
There it is!
NOW what?

Fingers circling
a gentle pressure.
Let your lips sing a song
of pleasure.
Slowly inward, gentle gliding.
To feel you moving is so exciting.

Your body speaking whispers of wanting.
Deeper breathing, cryptic and haunting.
The motion faster, your hips are rising.
We move together, that’s not surprising.

Feel this breath on inner thigh.
As my tongue is drawing nigh.
You taste amazing, I drink you in.
Enjoy the warmth as we begin.

I can feel you trembling so,
Humbled deeply by the show
of trust you give to only me,
I look for heaven, it’s you I see.

My muse, my cloak, when you’re here beside me,
Think these shadows you cast upon me, out of a smothered light
Are forbidden pleasures of yours as much as can be;
Like a glove you love to wrap me within your might;
Your stare stoutly stepping into my timid eyes.

Your pleasures will be a gripping vice.
You voice rasp, though I am faint:
You’re elated my flesh is as cold as ice,
You’re elated that you’ve martyred a saint.
Soon you’ll walk into the walls of my frozen eyelids.

You’re desolate empathy, your sensual suppressions,
Fade the crimson line between holiness and perdition.
You believe my eyesight to be blinded beneath snow,
And the beauties of the dark you so often mention
Infuriates me to know.

Nightly I feel I will wander
Beneath the manias of your winter cloak
As I look up and watch your eyes glimmer,
But oh, it’d be suicide to charge towards the warmth over the murky moat,
And impale myself against the piety your eyes so merely flicker.