A Particular Love

When, or If

The thing is, I always start tender and for a few moments, maybe more, you are uncertain how you will bring me pleasure, when, or if the caress will turn into a sharp slap, when, or if your tender pink nipple will find itself clamped, chained or twisted. When, or if, you go from lover to slave and back again.

The Simple Truth

The simple truth is that you are beautiful. Always have been. Always will be. Perhaps none have seen it, too busy with their egos and fears, but that does not change what you are, only how you see yourself.

So let me capture you, with cameras and words, with the soft touch of a lover and the confidence of a man who knows the truth.

The simple truth. You are beautiful.

I love when I find one of my poems from my deleted blog, or in this case, they find me. @owithadash2point0 - thank you!

An Understanding.

I believe you finally understand. Anywhere means.... anywhere. Anything means anything. And mine means only. completely.

No Matter

No matter how far the fantasies made real take us. There is always another step. No matter what the barriers to their realization, there is way past them. No matter your enslavement, I promise you, there is more.

I love it when I find a poem from my deleted blog that I can repost to my new on. In this case the poem found me. A Reader from London refound me and shared two. Thank you!

Just As...

And just as you think you have found every possible way to submit... I prove you wrong.

I love when one of my poems from my deleted blog finds me!

Touch

There is nothing of yours that touches anything of mine that does not excite. 

Before

The others, the ones before, the ones who have shared you, those who thought they owned you, and perhaps you too believed they did, until us, when you discovered what owned actually means and gave yourself to a slavery you only dreamed of before, liberating and eternal, no matter the distance.

After It All

After it all. The night. The taking.

The fantasy and madness.

The beyond expectations and in some cases,

Imagination. After your heart’s wildness,

The heaving breath. The throat sore from cries.

The marks.

After there is no one left but you and I

And the messy memory of our hours

And orgasms. After it all, there is this.

You in my shirt. A cup of tea.

My arms open to hold you

As long as you need to let it all sink in,

Allowing lust to become love

And memory,

and the certainty of more.

I am slowly findling my poems from the Tumblr purge of my former site.

in the candlelight and fire your body is art, full or line and shadow, tied, able to move just enough to prove your helplessness.

I caress your back, stopping to nibble, my sharp teeth leaving small marks on your alabaster flesh. branding you as mine.

My fingers cup your bottom, They…

Soul Love

And after they are done with you. And after I am done with you and you are cut down. No one except the one who knows you best (Me) could ever understand why you would fall to your knees and thank me.