Becoming Hers'

Her hands, cold and steady,

wasn’t meant to comfort me.

It wasn’t meant to soothe.

It was meant to claim,

to remind me of my place,

where I belonged.

And I belonged to her.

Her cold hands were a weight

that made me melt,

that made me forget myself,

and I let it happen,

letting go of everything I was

to become what she wanted.

What she needed.

Coz it was never about me,

not really.

It was always about her.

The Kissing Place

I
must confess—I throb for you.
Your body lingers in my thoughts,
your scent haunts the air I breathe.
You set my skin on fire,
a hunger only you can sate.

And
I throb when I read your words,
when your voice slides over my skin,
when your poetry stains my lips.
You unmake me with whispers,
leave me trembling, needing more.

I throb
when my hands claim your curves,
when my lips chase every sigh,
when your breath stammers, broken.
I worship you in kisses, in bites,
until your body pleads for more.

A pounding
surges deep when I taste you,
when my tongue learns your rhythm,
when your sweetness coats my lips.
I drink you down, slow and sinful,
until you tremble, beg, and break.

Meet
me at the Kissing Place,
where your body opens like poetry,
where I take you in, inch by inch.
Let me ruin you, love—
until you're breathless, spent, and mine.

Change

An hour passed, she left him on the shore,

He sat in silence on the balcony.

Below, the ocean's rhythmic, endless roar,

Reflecting vast, eternal mystery.

He knew he'd changed, their depths a boundless sea,

In shadows cast, a soul transformed anew.

In every wave, a newfound clarity,

In every current, dreams that did pursue.

He wished to paint her like a Monet, fine,

With strokes that far exceed their parts, so true.

In hazy blues and rose, her dreams entwine,

The scent of summer rain her spirit knew.

His masterpiece, in love’s eternal grace,

To live forever in their shared embrace.

I Love Her... Sometimes

She likes to be slapped when she comes.
Not teasing, not gentle—hard, sharp, real.
She’ll arch, tremble, gasp my name,
then she’ll beg for it, breathless—
“DO IT.”

So I do, hand striking her cheek.
She clenches, shudders, takes it all.
Her body breaks in perfect rhythm,
and I watch, needing this moment,
needing to see her undone.

She likes it most when I’m spilling,
when my cum glistens on her lips,
when she’s ruined, dripping, mine.
I push her head back—crack—
watch it smear across her skin.

It gets me off—watching her take it,
watching her unravel, gasp, plead.
The way I pull her open, piece by piece,
until she is wrecked beneath me,
shaking in the filth of surrender.

Then the high fades, and I see her,
skin flushed, lips swollen, breath slowing.
She looks at me like she knows—
like she sees the war inside me,
the battle I refuse to name.

I love her. I think. I hope.
Or maybe I just need her like this.
Maybe I only crave the ruin,
the breaking, the body, the release.
Maybe that’s all we are.

Ouroboric Bliss

You've made me greedy—hungry, wild,
To chart your body, sweet and styled.
Supple curves that yield yet claim,

A sovereign force I cannot tame.

Your scent, your taste, a wicked spell,

A drug that drags me down to dwell.
I bite, I press, I thrust, I crave,

Lost in this storm where none behave.

Your hips defy; my fists demand,

A fierce possession, rough yet planned.
Desire erupts in sin’s delight,

Our limbs entangled through the night.

Spent and marked, our breaths collide,

Bare and blissful, side by side.
Power claimed, then gently shared,

Time fades — we’re unprepared.