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Genie of the Lamp
Her eyes are sultry dark and wise
Calling for a night of sighs.
Her hand is there upon her knee
As her parted thighs are beckoning me.
I see her pussy there between
And there never was a more glorious dream.
No sultan’s treasure could surpass
the sight of her pussy or her ass.
And then her breasts so ripe and round
with nipples perched upon each mound
in a battle, would be the hills to take
to win the day -- and no mistake.
Now I hear the Battle roar
see elephants with tusks that gore.
Through the smoke, the trumpets blare
while canons quake and split the air
With a sudden fiery flare --
the death knell of all worldly care.
Scimitars swirl in a whirl of blood
while men fall back in the churning mud.
Now here comes the cavalry
With lances bearing down on me.
But no battle near or far
Can keep me from that eastern star.
I part the sea, the smoke does clear.
The princess awaits and our time is here.
On a chain around her neck
Is a golden locket between her breasts
But its splendor cannot match
the sights of her nipples -- and to these my eyes clasp.
She is poised on the bed in a graceful squat.
Her parted thighs show a pussy so hot.
Her pubic mound tween calves and thigh
is like a gorgeous butterfly.
Within the surround of her pubic mound
there is a gully where treasure is found.
The ultimate flower that the mind can conceive
is the delicate orchid of her labial sleeve.
The fine gold straps of her modern-day pumps
encircled the ankles that prop up her rump.
One hand down behind, serves to steady her pose
the other, laid on her knee, her open thighs does disclose.
Her hooped earrings of gold and tousled black hair
entwine and encircle like her sultry stare.
Her eyes brows and lashes are blades arabesque
that lay you bare your soul to undress.
Her rose petal lips playfully sulk and pout.
They seem to whisper her passion louder than any shout.
In her smoldering eyes she knows all that you crave
that she can use your passion to make you her slave.
You must love her and serve her with all of your might.
But at the end of the day, this is all that is right.
She'll be your only master and you her only slave --
from this moment on -- till one is in the grave.
But you must serve her well and she must treat you right
So the lamp that you've lit will not cease to delight.
Now you belong to this Genie of the lamp
And on your soul is her henna stamp.
Calling for a night of sighs.
Her hand is there upon her knee
As her parted thighs are beckoning me.
I see her pussy there between
And there never was a more glorious dream.
No sultan’s treasure could surpass
the sight of her pussy or her ass.
And then her breasts so ripe and round
with nipples perched upon each mound
in a battle, would be the hills to take
to win the day -- and no mistake.
Now I hear the Battle roar
see elephants with tusks that gore.
Through the smoke, the trumpets blare
while canons quake and split the air
With a sudden fiery flare --
the death knell of all worldly care.
Scimitars swirl in a whirl of blood
while men fall back in the churning mud.
Now here comes the cavalry
With lances bearing down on me.
But no battle near or far
Can keep me from that eastern star.
I part the sea, the smoke does clear.
The princess awaits and our time is here.
On a chain around her neck
Is a golden locket between her breasts
But its splendor cannot match
the sights of her nipples -- and to these my eyes clasp.
She is poised on the bed in a graceful squat.
Her parted thighs show a pussy so hot.
Her pubic mound tween calves and thigh
is like a gorgeous butterfly.
Within the surround of her pubic mound
there is a gully where treasure is found.
The ultimate flower that the mind can conceive
is the delicate orchid of her labial sleeve.
The fine gold straps of her modern-day pumps
encircled the ankles that prop up her rump.
One hand down behind, serves to steady her pose
the other, laid on her knee, her open thighs does disclose.
Her hooped earrings of gold and tousled black hair
entwine and encircle like her sultry stare.
Her eyes brows and lashes are blades arabesque
that lay you bare your soul to undress.
Her rose petal lips playfully sulk and pout.
They seem to whisper her passion louder than any shout.
In her smoldering eyes she knows all that you crave
that she can use your passion to make you her slave.
You must love her and serve her with all of your might.
But at the end of the day, this is all that is right.
She'll be your only master and you her only slave --
from this moment on -- till one is in the grave.
But you must serve her well and she must treat you right
So the lamp that you've lit will not cease to delight.
Now you belong to this Genie of the lamp
And on your soul is her henna stamp.
Published 3rd Nov 2012
| Edited 6th Nov 2012
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8th Nov 2012 9:22pm
I adore this poem and the whole concept of the genie lamp. I especially like the last verse.
Please keep loving your genie lamp. :)
Please keep loving your genie lamp. :)
Will do. So glad you like the poem. It's a bit of a balancing act between the risqué burlesque and even the playful quasi-pornographic side of erotica and that of true love -- in life as well as in poetry. I think it's a theme of our times -- trying to work out how they fit together.
There is nothing more powerful than falling for someone -- so I think the risqué thing is a bit like men and women as bullfighters playing with the bull before the bull takes them out. LOL . Now I'll have to write a poem like that. :)
There is nothing more powerful than falling for someone -- so I think the risqué thing is a bit like men and women as bullfighters playing with the bull before the bull takes them out. LOL . Now I'll have to write a poem like that. :)
